


The Tower of the Rising Moon

by Bethann, Minniemoggie, Susana Rosa (SusanaR)



Series: AU of Legendary Friendship and Desperate Hours AUs [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Family, Family Fluff, Father Figure, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 07:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bethann/pseuds/Bethann, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minniemoggie/pseuds/Minniemoggie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/Susana%20Rosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A trip to explore southern Ithilien takes Faramir, Legolas and Gimli into Minas Morgul itself!</p><p>Illustrations by Bethann</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1 Legolas' point of view

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the notes at the beginning of this series to better understand this story!

 

At last we are about to be on our way. I can scarcely hide my elation! Instead of being surrounded by what seems to be an unnecessarily large numbers of soldiery, I will be spending the next few days in the company of just Faramir, son of Aragorn, steward of Gondor, and my present guide. Oh, and of course by one rather irascible dwarf by the name of Gimli son of Gloin who would not be left behind even had I thought to suggest it, which I did not. I know when a case is hopeless, and to suppose that Gimli would allow me to jaunter off into the wilds of Ithilien without him to protect my back is laughable.

 

My dwarf takes his responsibilities very seriously and having given his oath to care for me, he would sooner lay down his life than fail in that duty.

 

What is more, although he will never admit it, I believe my friend and mentor is I quite as happy as I to see the back of the Gondorian Guard that Estel insisted upon sending with us on our journey through South Ithilien. Not that they are not good men; they are.   But there are so many of them. Estel seems to feel that his newly discovered son needs to be closely watched and guarded. Gimli said that in his opinion Aragorn doubled the guard because I was going to be in the party and that I tend to attract trouble like a flower attracts a bee. I do not agree with his assessment but again it would be pointless to say so, so I kept silent and merely gave thanks that when Faramir suggested it would be better if only the three of us rode west of the cross-roads where we are presently camping Gimli did no more than ask why?

 

Faramir’s response was that there are some paths that only he and his rangers know about, and that he would prefer to keep these ways secret a while longer for reasons of state. I take that to mean that these paths are used by members of Faramir’s spy network which comes and goes through Harad and Khand amongst other places, and obviously so did Gimli. I know he does not approve of such ‘shady doings’ as he calls them, but even my own father has a similar network of agents to spy on the lands around Greenwood and on some of the men and dwarves that could be found there. That is another thing I have not mentioned to Gimli, nor do I intend to do so any time soon.

 

Instead, I said that the silent pathways would be useful for my own folk when they eventually come south, as they prefer to avoid the main roads, which I deem will become increasingly clogged with traffic as men return to Ithilien now that the war is over.  Even as we took the road from Minas Tirith, several farmers and their families plus their flocks of sheep and goats joined our party, no doubt grateful for the large number of soldiers who accompanied their Steward. These farmers had once owned land in Ithilien or at least their families had and now they were intending to settle into the rolling hills and high open grasslands again.

 

For now, under the orders of Aragorn, they stay in large groups protected by some of the old soldiers who have been dismissed by the armies. It is an arrangement that suits both parties, for the farmers gain protection and the soldiers have paid work. The settlers have built or are building wooden stockades around their villages where they and their stock can take shelter during the nights and through the winters and they only venture out into the woods to graze their flocks during the day. That arrangement will change as the threat from Mordor diminishes for they will no doubt wish to set up homes that are more permanent for them and their families where numbers of animals and where they can grow their own crops and so on will not limit the grazing. Farmers are a hardy breed, and they are anxious to get started as soon as Aragorn deems it safe enough for them to move away from the guarded stockades. That will not be for a year or so yet for there are still bands of Orc and other dark forces to be flushed out of their hiding places. My elves will be useful in that matter for they hate Orc more than anyone else except perhaps Gimli.

And talking of Gimli, he is frowning at me and I wonder what it is I have done to incur his wrath this time.

 

“I thought ye were anxious to be on your way, Lamb.” he queries.

 

“I was… I mean I am,” I answer as I see that Faramir and the captain he is leaving in charge here, are all grinning at me and obviously waiting for me to mount Arod so we can move off. I leap up into the saddle, which I use when Gimli rides with me, haul Gimli up behind me, and then follow as Faramir leads the way out of the camp.

 

We take what was once called the wraith road past the statue of one of the kings of Gondor, which has now been repaired, and its head set back in place. When we first passed this way on the road to the Morannan, we found that Sauron’s minions had set a foul Orc head in its place.

 

Even though our need was desperate, at that time and the outcome of our march by no means clear, Aragorn took time to begin the repairs and set men to scrub off the worst of the words and the Orc daubing’s. The King now has a crown of flowers and ivy growing about his head, which is a great improvement on before.

 

The great ring of trees that surround the four roads were silent and watchful back then. Now they sprout new growth and although they are not accustomed to elves, they welcome my presence and are thriving once more. Birds sing in the canopies and flowers bloom again. The Morgulduin stream that once spouted foul and noisome vapours from where it flowed out of the valley of Imlad Morgul past the gates of Minas Morgul itself, before passing southwestward through Ithilien and out into the River Anduin now runs clear and fresh. It gives me hope for the rest of the land that was polluted by the evil of Sauron. Not that I am likely to see for myself if things have improved at Minas Ithil for we have been strictly ordered to stay well away from there by Aragorn, an order that has since been reiterated with some force by my dwarf. The Vale of Minas Morgul may have been all but cleared of Orc but Aragorn says that the horrors that were committed there still have the power to drive men mad. I did point out that neither Gimli nor I are men, and that Faramir spent many years close by without major harm, but he would not change his command for us to stay away from Minas Morgul.

 

Considering that Gimli and I actually accompanied Aragorn there when we were riding to the Black Gate and that Gimli used his expertise to destroy the bridge that spans the Morgulduin before we set fire to the surrounding area, I think Estel’s strictures on being wary are overstated, as are Gimli’s concerns over hidden dens of Orc. But like with so many other things my opinions do not carry the weight I believe they should.

 

I have heard stories from Erestor and Glorfindel of the beauty of Minas Ithil when it was first built. Once upon a time it was the fortress city of Isildur, son of Elendil built high in the upland valley beneath the mountains of Shadow. They told me that the city was both beautiful and bright and the moon lit its inner courts with wondrous silver light from where the tower got its name The Tower of the Moon. When I saw it for the first time, the once vibrant city lay in ruins.  The bridge to the tower itself was adorned with the carved forms of people and beasts all of them loathsome and corrupt to look upon. On the banks of the stream luminous white flowers glowed with an eerie beauty. It was indeed a grim and unnerving place.

 

The Tower of the Moon had rightly been renamed Minas Morgul (the Tower of Black Sorcery) and instead of moon light the tower was filled with corpse light, a faint ailing noisome green, and in its walls and towers showed only countless holes all looking inward to emptiness and ruin.

 

On the other side of the vale was a near vertical stairway cut into the sheer rock that led from the gate of Minas Morgul into the heights above. The pass, according to Gandalf, led through to the Mountains of Shadows, but he would not hear of any of us attempting it. Later when Sam and Frodo were restored to us and we heard about the horror of Shelob waiting in those passages, we were grateful for that command and amazed once more at the resourcefulness of the Hobbits and their bravery.

 

So now we will only traverse the road into the valley known as Imlad Morgul on the western slopes of the Ephel Dúath for a short space of time. It is about two days ride from the crossroads until we reach the deep gorge where Faramir and his rangers took down the Haradrim and the Mumakil. Then Faramir will lead us off the path and into the woods. We will make a camp nearby and leave the horses before taking to the hidden paths.

 

Despite my desire to see for myself the changes that I hope have taken place in Minas Ithil, I suppose I will have to curb my curiosity. Otherwise, I will only incur the considerable ire of my dwarf; never a good idea! And I do have several days away from the city of stone to look forward to after all.

 

Our journey up the road is trouble free. We meet no one save a shepherd moving his flock of sheep down the valley just before we turn off the road ourselves. I cast one longing glance down the road standing up in the stirrups and craning my neck, but can see nothing of Minas Ithil even with my eyesight. Gimli cuffs the back of my head and adjures me to ‘let it go laddie’ so I turn Arod after Faramir and the packhorse.

 

Our two days of travel have been pleasant indeed. It is good to be with friends and to spend our nights together exchanging stories and laughing over earlier exploits and tales of our youth. We have also shared more serious tales of how we have fought the darkness brought about by Sauron in the years gone by. We have all had our share of horrors and terrors which I suppose is true of any warrior but both Gimli and I knew that we were loved and supported by our parents whereas Faramir seemed to be at continual odds with Denethor who appeared to consider him the lesser of his two sons. Boromir, in stark contrast, was devoted to his baby brother and spoke of him with real affection and with pride for his accomplishments when we travelled together in the Fellowship and it did not take me long to come to realise that there are few better men living than the current Steward of Gondor.

 

I know Gimli is growing as fond of Faramir as I am, while the steward himself seems to be relishing this opportunity to be away from the court. Not surprising since he has spent so many years in the wilds of Ithilien leading the rangers, and like me prefers to be outside rather than confined. But mainly I believe it is a relief to him to have some time apart from his newly discovered Adar. Faramir and Aragorn are experiencing all the difficulties that must be attendant on an adult child finding that the one he thought of as his king was actually his sire.

 

There have been several battles between them initially over Faramir’s determination to keep the truth of his parentage from Aragorn. Once that issue was dealt with by some judicious manoeuvrings of Gimli and I they began to come to terms with their new roles. But it has not been an easy transition. Faramir is too independent and prone to act without Aragorn’s consent over matters where his new son’s safety is concerned while Aragorn tends to be overprotective and dictatorial.

 

I smirk inwardly thinking how their situation rather mirrors that of Gimli and me who have had our own arguments and stand offs since Gimli was appointed my guardian while we were on the quest. We still do have disagreements of course, for like Faramir I resent being treated as if I am still a child in need of protection when I am in fact an accomplished warrior. However, we have had a little longer to become reconciled over our different opinions on this thorny issue and of course, technically I am still not come of age while Faramir is an adult, albeit a youngish one given his Númenórean antecedents.

 

Before twilight comes upon us, we reach the place where we are to make camp. There is a shallow cave tucked into the hillside, which was used by the rangers during the war and where we will leave the horses and other supplies when we go out on foot to explore from now on.

 

As Gimli and Faramir set up our camp and collect firewood, I take my bow and go off to hunt for a rabbit or two for supper. There is an abundance of the creatures around here. Indeed, we had to be careful that our mounts did not step into one of their burrows as we toiled up this last hill. My time away from the camp will also allow me to spy out a tree, which may be tall enough for me to maybe catch a glimpse of Minas Ithil, for we are quite high up in the hills and as long as Gimli does not come to know of it all will be well.

 

As I am about to step into the tree line Gimli calls after me to remember what Aragorn said about staying away from Minas Morgul. I roll my eyes at this reminder making Faramir snort and then turn it into a rather unconvincing cough when Gimli turns to glare at him.

 

Before anything more can be said or ‘done,’ I hurry to quit the clearing but not fast enough to pretend that I do not hear Gimli telling me that I would do well to recall what happens to elflings who ignore their elders.

 

Since I recall very well what happens when I go against my hirsute guardians orders, I make sure that I go west as I leave the glade and not until I am well out of sight and sound do I turn and make a more stealthy way back eastwards. It does not take me long to bag not two but four rabbits. They are not as plump as I might have liked, but they will make a good meal or two for us. Having dispatched them cleanly, I offer a brief prayer for their sacrifice. Then, tying them to my belt, I hurry onwards because if I am not quick the light will fade and I will not have a good view of the tower. In fact I begin to think it might be better to just identify a suitable tree and then come back tomorrow to do my bit of spying. I am about to turn back to the camp when my nostrils are assailed by the sweet, stinking stench of rotting flesh. I turn slowly in a circle, my eyes peering into the gathering gloom, and spot a swarm of flies. Stringing my bow, I approach the spot cautiously all of my senses on full alert. I enter a small clearing and see immediately that there has been quite a deal of activity here. There are tracks that could only have been made by goblins or Orc but they are not fresh, perhaps a week or even two weeks old. Even so I wait, scanning the immediate vicinity and seeing the crude covering that denotes a trap. I have seen these Orc holes many times before and both men and beasts. It is such a cruel needless way to kill and maim. There is no clean kill; only lingering death. The deep pits usually have sharpened wooden stakes or iron spears set in the base so that whatever falls in is impaled upon them and then held there until the hunters if such they can be described come back and finish them off. From the stench and the flies I assume that whatever was in the pit is long dead and I am about to turn away when I hear the soft cries of an animal in distress.

 

I cross to the side of the hole and peer inside, among the charnel house of bones and carcasses I see a wild cat, held prisoner by a gold collar that has caught on the iron hooks of the spears embedded in the earth. I lift my bow for it would be a kindness to finish the creature off rather than leave it to starve, when I realise that it is not in fact injured, but merely trapped. I cannot in all conscience leave it, nor do I wish to kill it. The cat probably came north with the men from Harad and escaped during the fighting, for I know that the men of the south use these animals to hunt with, just as we use hounds, and it is scarcely the creature’s fault that its master followed the dark lord. Like the Mumakil, it had no choice but to do as it was trained to do.

 

Still freeing it will not be easy and of course its claws and teeth are sharp and it is terrified. I am likely to be either scratched or bitten. I could go back and ask help from Faramir and Gimli but that would mean me admitting I was in an area that I have been forbidden to enter. No I would sooner face the wrath of the cat than an irate dwarf!

 

My mind made up, I put down my own kill, my bow and quiver and climb down into the pit. The smell is appalling and I have to be careful where I step but most of my concentration is on the cat, which has backed up as far as possible into a corner. Its ears are laid back and its teeth are bared. I try to calm it, speaking softly, and moving slowly and it seems to understand that I mean it no harm, for although it remains wary it does not lash out at me when I come within reach. As I work on undoing the collar, for if I leave it on such an accident might occur again, I continue my litany of soft reassurances. Finally, I ease the collar over the animals head and the cat, realising it is free, springs towards me. I automatically tuck myself into a ball to protect myself but the cat is not attacking merely using my body as a ladder to scramble out of the pit and to flee into the woods.

 

 

I climb out after it, muttering to myself about ingratitude and then find that it has helped itself to one of my rabbits as well. Talk about adding insult to injury! Still the cat is free and that is all that matters.

 

As I am picking up my bow and quiver, I notice that there is blood seeping from a cut on my arm and a graze on the back of my neck.

 

I could attempt to pass off the more obvious graze on the back of my neck by saying I caught it on an overhanging branch or a bramble, but the cut on my arm will be more difficult to hide. I have a choice to make. Do I attempt to do so or do I tell the truth or at least some of it? Because if either Gimli or Aragorn find out I have been this close to Minas Ithil they will skin me alive.

 

When I get back to our camp both Gimli and Faramir look up and I can see the relief on their faces.

 

“Ye have been quite a time, Lamb. Were the rabbits so hard to find?” Gimli growls.

 

I lift the remaining rabbits up to show them.

 

 “No there were plenty of rabbits. I will skin these and soon have them in the pot. I am sorry if I was longer than you expected and you are starving.”

 

It is not until we are eating that Faramir notices the blood on my tunic. Before I can stop him, he asks how I have managed to injure myself and of course the whole story comes out, at least the part about freeing the cat.

 

I fear Gimli will be angry but apart from telling me I am a damned fool for not speaking sooner so that my wounds could be treated, he says little more than it was the sort of thing he would expect me to do. He then insists on cleaning up the scratches before we settle down again by the fire.

 

He puffs away on his pipe for a while, while Faramir and I talk of where we will go tomorrow. Then Gimli looks up and says, “We should go back to that pit in the morning and fill it i. It isn’a right to leave it so more innocents can fall in. It could just as easily have been a man or a child as that wild cat ye found.”

 

“You are right Gimli,” Faramir agrees, “especially with so many folk returning to Ithilien now. Where was it Legolas? You did not say earlier.”

 

I did not say because to do so would be to admit I had been somewhere I should not have been. With Faramir gazing at me expectantly I wave a hand in a westerly direction, “Uh I do not rightly recall, I travelled over quite a distance and ...”

 

My voice trails off as Gimli fixes me with a sharp glance, “You do not recall? Pull the other one laddie. Ye are an elf.  Ye always know where ye are, which leads me to wonder exactly why ye are saying otherwise now. Could it be that ye were somewhere ye should not have been or up to some kind of mischief mayhap?”

 

I raise my eyes to his face and grimace at the determination to get a full answer that I see there. For a few brief hours I have basked in the sunshine of his approval for freeing the cat, now I am about to fall under his severest displeasure for there is nothing he hates more than untruthfulness. There is no point in further dissembling, for he will see for himself in the morning just how far away from the ‘west’ the pit is and the inevitable question will be why I was there when I had been told- indeed ordered- not to go in that direction.

 

“Well?” Irritation at being made to wait for an answer shows in Gimli’s voice.

 

I throw an anguished look in his direction, hoping he will not extract the full measure of his ire on me in Faramir’s presence, then whisper, “It is perhaps a little towards the east” and then wait for the axe to fall.


	2. Chapter 2  Gimli's point of view

**Gimli**

 

 

“A little towards the east ye say?  That tree yonder is a little to the east,” I point to a tall cedar near the edge of the clearing.  “I hope ye are telling me it is somewhere near there.”

 

Legolas stands and takes a step toward the fire, making a show of stirring the coals back to a flame, though I suspect he has in mind to place the fire between us before he answers me.

 

“Well, Elvellon, not exactly,” he answers, “It is a bit farther east than that, if I remember right.”

 

I know very well he remembers right.  His sense of direction is nearly flawless.  This is a matter of obfuscation plain and simple, but it will only take a couple of questions to get to the bottom of the truth.

 

“I see.  Tell me, lad, where exactly did ye find the rabbits?”

 

“Umm,” he seems a little wary about answering, but it is a safe enough topic so he points in the direction we saw him leaving earlier this evening, which was most certainly to the _west._ “just a few paces beyond the tree line there were several burrows.”

 

“So ye caught them quickly did ye?  Within minutes I’m guessing.”

 

He cringes, seeing where this line of questioning is going, but he knows very well I am not going to believe it took him nearly two hours to bag three rabbits, so there is nothing to do but admit to the truth.

 

“Yes, fairly quickly.”

 

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Faramir watching us and I see he too is cringing and shaking his head at the incriminating evidence piling up against my elfling.

 

“So ye caught the three rabbits quickly and to the west of here, and yet ye found the cat trapped much later and to the _east,”_ I point out.  “Would ye care to explain how that came about?”

 

“Actually there were four rabbits,” Legolas tells us with a nervous laugh.  “the wild cat managed to steal one on its way out.  Talk about ingratitude…”

 

I clamp my teeth together and use every ounce of self-control to prevent myself leaping over the fire and shaking him until his teeth rattle!  He knows very well what I’m asking.

 

“Never mind that, Elfling, ye know very well what I mean!” I growl.  “If ye already had the rabbits why did ye bother going east to begin with, when ye have been warned no less than a dozen times to stay away from there, one of those times just moments before ye left the camp!  Now stop beating around the bush and answer the damn question!”

 

He glances worriedly at Faramir; no doubt concerned over this particular conversation getting too hands-on so to speak in front of our friend and guide and immediately Faramir is on his feet and talking fast.

 

“We really do appreciate the rabbits, Legolas.  It is too bad about the fourth one.”  Faramir turns to me.  “I am sure he was careful and only went east when he heard the animal in distress. Any one of us would have done the same.”

 

I look at Faramir in amazement.  He surely knows that what he is suggesting cannot possibly be true, or the lad would have mentioned it straight off instead of waiting for Faramir to notice the blood on his shirt. 

 

 Faramir is obviously trying to defuse the situation, but he does not know my elf as I do.  If I close my eyes to this little bit of disobedience and let it go unchallenged, the crazy elfling will next be taking an unauthorized site seeing tour of Minas Morgul.  Obviously this has to be nipped in the bud or we will have real problems.  I do not say any of this but merely ask, “Is that so, Laddie?  Did ye hear the animal and then head east to free it?”

 

Legolas looks as if he would like to say that that is the case, but he is not very skilled at telling direct falsehoods.  He also knows it will not help his situation to be caught out in a lie and I have a feeling our trip to fill in the pit in the morning would expose the truth if he were to agree with Faramir’s assessment of the situation.  So he shoots Faramir a dark look and then simply shakes his head in answer.

 

“Then please explain how ye came to be in an area ye were clearly told to stay away from, not  only by me, but  by the King of this land as well,” I insist. When he doesn’t answer right away I offer a suggestion.  “Perhaps ye simply wanted to see Minas Ithil for yourself.  Is that it?”

 

He offers me a pleading look and shrugs, which is hardly a proper answer.

 

“I’d prefer ye speak, elfling.”

 

Again he glances toward Faramir and looks as if he would rather decline to answer, but he knows that is not an option, so he softly speaks up.

 

“Yes, Elvellon.  Something like that.”

 

“So ye disobeyed the king’s orders and blatantly defied me as well, besides placing yourself at risk just to sate your curiosity?”

 

“I was never really at risk.  I…”

 

“Look me in the eye and say that again, young elf!”  I snap, startling both of my companions.  “Ye went into an area that is well known to be teeming with orc and goblin activity, alone and without informing anyone of your whereabouts, and ye expect me to believe ye were not in any danger?  And even if I believed that, which I assure ye I do not, that does not change the fact that this was a calculated act of disobedience,  that ye obviously planned from the moment ye left the camp.  Can ye deny that?”

 

“N..no, Gimli,” he whispers, nervously biting his lip.  “I’m sorry.”

 

“I do not doubt ye are sorry ye were caught out,” I observe, “but I’ll wager ye’ll be a good deal sorrier very soon.”

 

I look around the camp and notice Faramir looking wide-eyed and anxious as if he is unsure if he should interfere or not.  I also realize that beyond the light of the campfire all is blackness, for there isn’t even a moon tonight.  It is not safe to drag my elf deeper into the woods in the darkness, but it also will not do to go any further in our ‘discussion’ under Faramir’s shocked gaze.  I know Legolas finds it agonizing to have to wait for such things, but it would be worse still for Faramir to witness his punishment.  As angry and frustrated as I am, I have no desire to humiliate him in that fashion, so I announce my decision.

 

“But not tonight.  We will not mention it again until after we have returned from filling in the pit tomorrow.”

 

Legolas lets out a breath and gives me a grateful look and Faramir sits back down, also looking relieved.  After that there is a little awkward conversation, until I suggest we set up watches and try to get some rest.

 

 Legolas looks as if he is about to object when I do not include him in the watches, but I give him such a quelling look that he does not say anything after all.  Instead he follows me into the shallow cave while Faramir takes the first watch.  Once we are inside I explain my reasoning.

 

“Ye will remain within my sight or within Faramir’s sight until I say otherwise, elfling.  That means no scouting ahead, no hunting alone, no watches alone until such a time that I feel ye can be trusted on your own.”

 

He somehow manages to look offended and hurt.

 

“I would never leave a watch and put a member of our party in danger,”  he asserts.  “Surely you must know that.”

 

“Ye are a member of our party, are yet not?” 

 

“Yes, but…”

 

“But nothing lamb.  Ye had no qualms whatsoever about putting yourself in danger by ignoring direct orders, so that means the only option I have is to keep a close watch on ye.  Either that or I can escort ye back to the Gondorian guard. Is that what ye want?”

 

He sighs and shakes his head.

 

“Then I suggest ye cease arguing and take this time to think about how ye can prevent yourself getting into such a predicament in future. And there is no need to glare at me either, youngling. I did not do this to you; it was entirely your own choice.  If ye do not wish to be treated like a naughty child, then don’t behave like one.”

 

It is the sort of reasoning most youngsters find maddening, but it is a life lesson that we all must learn in time, though I sometimes despair that my particular lad may never achieve it.  Or at least I may not live long enough to see it!

 

But to his credit, he looks suitably contrite and is quick to obey when I indicate that he should try to sleep.  I climb into my own bedroll and turn my back to him and am just about to drift off when he calls to me softly.

 

“Gimli?”

 

“Aye, lad?”

 

“Are you very angry?”

 

I smile to myself for I know there is more to this question than it might sound at first.  He is not asking me about the state of my emotions, nor is he gauging how harsh I might be when we finish our discussion tomorrow.  What he really wants to know is if he has finally gone too far and lost my good favor for keeps.  If I wish him to sleep at all this night I will have to reassure him.  I roll over and lean up on one elbow, so I can look him in the eyes as I speak.

 

“Ye needn’t worry, Lamb. I am not thrilled with your earlier actions, but I still like _you_.” I promise him.  “it will take more than a spate of childish naughtiness to get rid of this dwarf.  Now no more chatter. It is time and beyond that ye were asleep.”

 

I can see the relief in his face as I lean forward to kiss him on the brow and it is no time at all before we are both asleep. 

 

Years of training as a warrior mean that I am up in time for my watch.  I quietly find my axe and slip out of the shelter of the cavern in order not to awaken my charge as I go to relieve Faramir of his watch.  He looks up as I approach and reports that all has been quiet over the last few hours.  I sit next to him and advise him to get some rest before the sun rises, but he doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave.  In fact I get the feeling that he wishes to speak to me about something, but isn’t quite certain how to bring it up.

 

 

“Is something amiss, lad?” I finally ask him.

 

“No, no…not really,”  he said slowly.  “It is just that I am….concerned. About Legolas…”

 

I pull my pipe from my pocket and start to pack it with pipe weed, all the time wondering where this is going.

 

 “What about him?”  I ask.

 

“Well Lord Gimli…”

 

“Just Gimli will do, Faramir.”

 

“Right!   Gimli then,” He smiles a bit nervously.  “He is only curious, you know.  I would like to have gotten a look at the Dark Tower myself.”

 

“As would I,” I agree.  “What of it?”

 

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be too hard on him then,” he says in a rush.  “After all he was only doing what we all would have liked to have done.”

 

“But the difference, laddie, is that we chose NOT to satisfy our curiosity because we realized it was foolish and dangerous to do so,” I remind him.  “Our young friend needs to learn to practice some self-control for his own safety and I would not be doing him any favors by ‘going easy’ on him as you suggest.”

 

He looks thoughtful for a while, and I wonder if he is thinking more of his own relationship with Aragorn than the situation at hand.  For that reason I explain further.

 

“I do not flex my authority over him just because I can.  I truly want to see him do well and have a happy life, but in order to do that he has to _remain alive_!  If I seem to be ‘too hard’ on him, it is only because I care for him very much and would not like to see anything happen to him because of his own reckless nature.  Ye can understand that surely?”

 

He nods, albeit somewhat reluctantly and now I am certain there is more to his concern than worry over my elf’s predicament.  I squeeze his shoulder and suggest once again that he rests before morning and this time he rises to his feet and goes to take my place in the cavern.

 

The night is uneventful and morning has us heading east after a quick morning meal.  We travel for quite some time, much further east than I had ever intended when we began this journey, but knowing about the hunter’s trap means we now have the obligation to do something about it.  It would not be right to leave it knowing that innocent folks might be injured or killed.

 

As we travel, the very air becomes foul with the putrid smell of rotting flesh.  There are signs everywhere of orc and goblin activity and I feel myself growing angry all over again that Legolas would be so careless as to enter such a place all alone and for no better reason than sheer inquisitiveness!  Finally we come to a place where flies are thick and the air is nearly unbearable and I see the deep pit.  I feel quite ill at the cruelty of such a lair, for anything that is trapped here will suffer needlessly before finally dying of its wounds or being ended by some dark creature.  I push away thoughts that my elfling might have been the victim to such a trap in his hurry to catch a glimpse of Minas Ithil. 

 

Immediately Faramir and I begin filling in the pit, but Legolas speaks up.

 

“This is not the place,” he tells us.  “It is a bit further east of here.  This is a different one.”

 

“Ye mean there are more than one?” I demand.

 

“Apparently so,” he says.  “I never noticed this one before…”

 

His voice trails off as he realizes he is admitting to having been careless enough not to have noticed this trap.

 

I look in the direction he is pointing and then scan the entire area.  I feel the blood drain from my face when I realize I can count at least a dozen such traps all in close proximity to one another.  The ground is virtually riddled with them!

 

“We cannot leave them,” Faramir points out.  “But we’ll have to be careful and watch where we step.”

 

That is how we spend the day shoveling dirt into enormous holes rather than exploring hidden trails as we had intended to do this day.  The task is made more difficult by the lack of proper equipment.  We have to use whatever is handy to move the dirt back into the pits. It is backbreaking work, and by the time we have returned to the campsite, it is decided that tomorrow will be soon enough to continue with our original plan.

 

It is after we have all washed away the grime and stink from the day’s labors and finished the last of the rabbit stew that I realize the atmosphere has become tense again.  It is easy to see that Legolas is beginning to feel the strain of having had to wait nearly a whole day for the promised end of our discussion from last night and it seems to me that Faramir is almost as anxious himself.  It is best to have it over I decide before the sun sets and we end up having to postpone it again.

 

“Come, lamb.  Let us take a walk.”

 

Legolas starts a little at the sound of my voice, but he looks almost as relieved as he does apprehensive.  Faramir on the other hand looks decidedly uncomfortable. 

 

“Surely all the work he did on filling in the pits today was enough…” he begins.  Legolas flushes deeply and gives Faramir a hard look.

 

“Faramir!  Please just _stay out of it!_ ”  he hisses, causing Faramir to widen his eyes in surprise, but clamp his mouth shut.

 

Ignoring the man’s shocked expression, I take my lad by the elbow and lead him into the woods away from the camp.  We walk as far away as I feel is safe and if it is not out of Faramir’s earshot, at least he will not be able to see anything that might make any of us uncomfortable.  I do not take the time to confer over why we are here as I might do in other cases, for I have already said all that needed saying yesterday, and I can see my elf is already at the end of his tether as it is.  It will not be prudent to drag things out any longer.   Instead I simply place one foot on a good sized boulder and pull him forward over my now raised knee. He grapples for balance and ends up placing one hand on the boulder and the other one holds onto my calf.  I grasp him by the waist to steady him and give him a moment to adjust to being upside down before peeling his leggings down to mid thigh.

 

I skip over the usual preliminaries and get straight to the task at hand, bringing my firm left hand down hard even from the beginning and not letting up until his backside and thighs are an even dark red and he is struggling to move out of the way.  I do not hold this against him, for I know he had every intention of cooperating at the first. The struggle has just become too great and he is no longer able to keep still, nor is he able to prevent choking out deep sobs and promises for better behavior in the future.  After that I help him to his feet and to reorder his clothing and open my arms in invitation.

 

He falls into my arms and then drops to his knees, so that he can lean his head on my chest as I smooth down his wildly disordered hair and whisper soft words or reassurance to the top of his head.  After a while I pull away from him so that I can mop his face with the edge of my cloak and gently guide him to his feet again.

 

“Come lamb, it is getting dark.  We must head back to the camp.”

 

He groans at the thought of facing Faramir, but he cannot stay hidden in the woods forever, so we slowly find our way back to the clearing, where we find Faramir looking more anxious and concerned than ever.  He wisely chooses to say nothing, however, and I notice his worried expression changes to a puzzled one when my elf brings me my pipe and lights it for me and then at my invitation lays down on his side with his head in my lap.  I brush his long hair back from his face and continue down the length of it before starting over.  I continue to stroke his hair and smoke my pipe for a few minutes before I finally speak. 

 

“Have I ever told ye about the first time I visited the city of Bree, back when I was a child living in the Blue Mountains?”

 

Faramir looks even more mystified than before for some reason.  Perhaps he expected the two of us to be angry or at odds with one another, and is surprised by our geniality?   I am unsure.  Whatever the case, Legolas does not seem to notice.  He only wriggles a bit to make himself more comfortable before twisting his neck to look up at me.

 

“I don’t recall it if you have Elvellon,” he says. “Tell us.”

 


	3. Chapter 3  Faramir's Point of view

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illustrations by Bethann

 

**[Faramir POV, earlier that day while filling in the hunters’ pit traps]**

 

The sweet, nauseating smell of decay and the taste of dust in my mouth combine unpleasantly with the ache in my lower back and shoulders, making me rather wish that Legolas had not decided to go off sight-seeing last night. Ah well. Nothing to be done for it now, and besides, for the creatures of the wood, Legolas’ little field trip will prove a boon-quite literally a lifesaver.

 

Still, it is with no little relief that I accept Lord Gimli’s offered hand to leave this half-filled death trap and take my turn on watch. At first, my companions had thought removing a third of our labor from the task of digging in order to stand sentry to be unnecessary.

 

“We’ll finish all the quicker if we don’t,” Lord Gimli had said firmly, with a baleful look for the fidgeting Legolas, who for his part assured Faramir earnestly, “I will hear any threat long before it approaches, Faramir, do not fear.”

 

I paused before replying, as for this duo that might well be true. Their senses are incredibly acute. Prince Legolas more so, of course, as he does not tire of reminding us, but to a human who had only ever read of dwarves or elves before the War, their strength and endurance still amazes me. Despite that, I insisted on rotating a watch.

 

“It would be the grossest breach of protocol were one of the orcs or goblins who have continued to squat upon my north-west woods were to eat – or otherwise damage- one of you whilst we are occupied with moving earth.” I explained, earnest and apologetic, but unwilling to yield. “And I daren’t even think what my father the King would say.”

 

To judge by the expressions of consternation on my two companions’ faces, neither could they.

 

After a moment, Gimli snorts dismissively, “Aragorn worries as better befits a crotchety old matron than a warrior King.”

 

I cough to hide an inappropriate laugh. That much is true indeed, and far more irritating to me now than it had ever been before.

 

“Good.” Says Legolas, who does not bother to hide his relieved smile. “It’s decided then – there is no need to mount a watch. It’s just as I said last night, three warriors of our skill have nothing to fear here, provided that we are careful.”

 

Lord Gimli scowls at his charge. “On second thought, ‘tis young Faramir who knows these woods better than either of us.  We shall do as he suggests.”

 

I stand my watch to the methodic rhythm of loose dirt falling upon earth. It occurs to me that perhaps this unpleasant labor is, in my case, fate collecting it’s due. As a young soldier, I did not do my fair share of a soldier’s digging. Not so much out of avoidance, but rather because I started out of the academy a lieutenant, and there were other things that I had to learn how to do. I do not feel guilt for that, but I do for the War. 

 

The charnel house smell here reminds me a bit of the wind off of the Pelennor, those first days and weeks after the great battle there. I did not take a shift burying our dead, and I should have. The healers’ threats about what would have happened had I done so were extremely graphic, yet I still reproach myself. Perhaps this is redemption, clothed as a detour. That thought makes me look more charitably on this endeavor and its author, and I frown. Elf and experienced warrior Legolas might be, and strong even for his kind. But now he seems…tired. Even haunted, much as is this part of my wood. 

 

Ithilien near the poor, corrupted corpse of Minas Ihil is enough to make anyone’s spirit oppressed, let alone that of an elven youth who feels eloquently the pain of the creatures whose lives have been ended in torment at our feet.

 

I decide that a break is definitely in order.   
  
"When we finish filling this trap, we should cross the brook again on the way to..."  I hesitate.  I had almost said 'to the pit where Legolas finally ended his wanderings last night.’ Thinking better of that, I say instead, "to the pit where Legolas made the acquaintance of that unfortunate yet opportunistic mountain cat."  
  
I might as well have spoken my first thought, for Gimli gives Legolas a dark look as if he heard my unspoken words.

   
"We needn't take the time," Gimli objects shortly, and then turns determinedly back to the unpleasant task at hand. 

 

Legolas, however, appears to need a moment near the healthier trees to recover his equilibrium a bit, for he has gotten progressively greyer of face as we continue to move east-and no wonder, considering the ever-deepening scowl on his guardian's face. It has been a difficult couple of days for poor Legolas and it seems to me that calling a break and sacrificing my own image is the least that I can do for him. I can tell that they both think of me as ‘the poor weak human’ at times. Only Legolas is artless enough to say so, but I can tell that Lord Gimli thinks it too, at times.  I wonder if it is just me, or if they did the same thing to Aragorn during the Quest, and how my father dealt with it if so.   
  
"I could use the break," I say, purposely letting a bit of my own exhaustion show in my voice.

 

“Ach, that’s well enough then, Faramir lad.” Gimli accepts with an apologetic nod. “’Tis well that you ask for the rest you need.”

 

 That point seems to be directed at Legolas, but I have no time to think on that before the dwarf continues, “In fact,” Gimli’s discerning eyes study me more closely, “Aragorn asked us to see that you do not strain your shoulder.” 

 

I can feel my face heating up even as I heave a resigned sigh. “My father does indeed worry too much. His own healer craft is great. ‘Twas he who declared me fit to travel, and to fight. I have had no problems this day.”

 

“But you will tell us, if your shoulder does start bothering you,” Legolas saus firmly. “You mustn’t hide that, Faramir.  Gimli and I can handle the digging.”

 

“It will be well enough, Legolas.” I assure him, taking care to keep my tone calm despite my exasperation. Most of it is directed at my absent father, in any case. Despite my momentary irritation, I am surprised at how much I miss him – nearly as much as I miss my wife and my baby son.

 

It is my father I have to thank that my shoulder does not pain me after a day such as we have had. I did not appreciate his efforts at the time. Finding myself over his knee studying the carpet whilst his hand belabored the point of obeying his instructions on my poor backside was extremely unpleasant, and yet…I cannot deny that I am the better for it. Perhaps that is similar to the point Lord Gimli was trying to make concerning his determination to chastise Legolas for his recklessly unwise explorations. As we travel deeper and deeper into this dangerous territory, my sympathy for Legolas wavers but it never vanishes away entirely.  Surely seeing how many different ways he might have died last night has been punishment enough.

 

By the end of the day we are all three well in need of a bath. I sigh in contentment as the cold, clear-running water washes the dirt and worse off of my skin, and brings relief to my aching muscles.

 

Legolas, on the other hand, seems unable to relax. Again, I can commiserate –I would feel much the same if it were I in his position. But he worked hard today, and letting worry deprive him of the small pleasures of the moment serves no purpose. I hope that Lord Gimli would agree, but it is no matter, for I do not need his permission to splash Legolas.

 

He looks to me in disbelief. I splash him again, the crystal clear drops of water assaulting his slender, muscular chest and his fair face, and even dampening his blond braids.

 

“Faramir, what in the name of Orome…” He begins to object, only to be cut off as I hook my ankle around his and yank him briefly underwater. He reemerges spluttering, and swearing vengeance with an insulted air at odds with the amused smile upon his face.

 

 

We wrestle and splash in the water as the sun struggles through the clouds. The orange and pink light of sunset filters down through the leaves overhead, making Legolas’ hair shine nearly as golden-red as mine as we thrash about in the water. Legolas is surprisingly strong and muscular for so lithe a creature. He quickly has me crying mercy, his hard arm encircling my chest to keep me above water as I regain my breath.

 

Legolas does not have long to savor his triumph before Gimli calls us to the fire, with a pointed remark that it was good he had been keeping the watch, as it would have been the grossest form of stupidity for Legolas and I to have been eaten by some foul creature whilst we were trying to drown one another like fools. He does not seem truly angry, for all the bluster. Then his knowing gaze once again turns to Legolas. 

 

It appears that Lord Gimli has not, in fact, thought better of his idea to give Legolas a sound thrashing. Or at least so I infer from his decision that they shall go for a walk. I do my best to speak up for him, but as Legolas does not appear to appreciate my championship, I leave off, even though it goes against my natural inclination to protect my older-but-younger friend.  I hate being powerless to keep Legolas safe. I find myself resenting Gimli, even though I know that he cares for Legolas quite dearly.

 

I busy my hands and my mind with other things, and try to ignore the nearby sounds of a sound spanking in progress. I wince as I hear the first slaps of hard hand upon bare, vulnerable buttocks. Legolas remains quiet for an impressive amount of time, considering, but eventually the sounds of his cries and pleas begin to accompany the fusillade of smacks.  It is hard to resist the urge to go and rescue him, however poorly that might go over. Fortunately his ordeal ends before I feel compelled to make that choice. All is quiet in the poisoned forest for a time, until my two companions return from their unpleasant errand and once again join me at the fire.

 

Legolas’ eyes are red-rimmed from crying. His normally neat appearance is slightly rumpled, but he gives no further outward sign of his ordeal.  Sadly, I know that means little in the case of such a strong mind and will as his. I purposely do not pay him too close attention – I do not want him to have to put on a brave face for me.

 

Had I just been on the receiving end of the tanning Legolas got from his dwarven guardian, I would not bring Gimli his pipe, nor desire to be in his presence at all. I watch them, perplexed, for a few moments, before realizing what I am doing, and dropping my eyes politely to concentrate on my fletching. I pay little attention to Gimli’s admittedly entertaining story about a journey to Bree in his youth. Instead, I worry over whether Gimli might have gone too far in punishing his ward. From Legolas’ affection and the puzzling but evident accord between the two of them now, one would think not, except…what force it must have taken to cause a youth as proud and stalwart as Legolas to cry out so loudly disturbs me greatly.

 

I find that I cannot completely dismiss the concern. Gimli is very strong – his hands are like steel shovels, weapons in and of themselves. Added to that, Legolas would not willingly let on to being hurt. Perhaps Gimli might have truly harmed his elven friend, without even realizing it.

 

“Faramir, lad, perhaps you would take the first watch?” Gimli asks, calling my attention back to the present.

 

“Ah…” I begin, not sure how best to handle the situation. Under normal circumstances of course I would agree, but now I feel the need to make sure that the pain he gave Legolas this night is not enough to have left the young elven prince injured and in need of care.  “I would prefer to take second watch, Lord Gimli.” I say with humble apology, “Today was extremely wearying.” All true, although my aching muscles are not the actual reason for my reluctance.

 

“It’s just Gimli, Faramir,” He reminds me shortly, before acquiescing to take the early watch with becoming grace, and with more praise for me, for having admitted to needing rest. I am sensing a theme in terms of Gimli’s messages directed at Legolas, but that is not my current preoccupation.

 

I busy myself with settling the camp for the night, leaving time for Gimli and Legolas to talk again in private. I do not go to join the elf in unrestful slumber until after Gimli settles himself and his axe at a vantage point where he can watch the entrance to the cave we have sheltered in for the night, and also the surrounding forest. In the quiet darkness, Legolas lies beside me on his stomach, but I can tell that he is not yet sleeping.

 

“I am sorry to dishonor your wish to stay out of the…matter….between you and Lord Gimli…”

 

“Just Gimli,” Legolas reminds me with a groan, “And please, Faramir, just leave it.”

 

“I cannot do so until I know that you have not been harmed this evening,” I say, quietly determined.

 

Legolas’ hand slaps down on the dusty earth floor of the cave, in the slender space between my pallet and his.  He makes a frustrated sound, as if the very words to express his exasperation elude him, before spluttering, “Faramir…he would never…you are truly dense sometimes!”

 

I have been called much worse things than dense.  “I know that he cares for you,” I reply carefully, “But he wields that weighty axe as if it were no more than a light staff. He might not know his own strength, and you are too much the warrior to complain…”

 

He groans again. “Faramir…he is like another father to me…he would NEVER hurt me.” Now Legolas sounds offended, very much so, on his guardian’s behalf. “No more than Aragorn would hurt you.” He concludes, still irritated.

 

At that I do pause. My King – my father – would not harm me. At least not on purpose, although I do fear his temper, at times. And the loss of his regard, all the more so after every time I earn a trip over his knee. But to trust that Aragorn would never hurt me, well, I don’t know as I could truly do that. But I concede the point with an apology for my intrusion, which Legolas accepts with a clearly miffed air.

 

The hours pass uneasily. I dream, but in my dream the dark city looms.  Faceless, formless shadows threaten me in a shadowed courtyard, and I see a momentary glimpse of Legolas’ face, contorted in fright and pain. More pain than he is letting on, easy to miss in my own fear and terror.

 

I awake with a start, unsure even if this was a true dream, or merely the product of my worries.  There is nothing to do but wait and see. I get to my feet and look up at the moon, which peeks here and there between the clouds. Then I swear silently, for I know that Gimli has neglected to wake me for my watch. I dress quickly to go and relieve him. Better late than never.

 

He seems peaceful, in the scant light. But still alert – in fact he sees my face clearly well before I see his.

 

“Faramir? What’s amiss, lad?” He asks, “I had meant to let you sleep.”  

 

“You should not have,” I tell him, “For you need your rest as well, if less of it than I do.”

 

 Dwarves and elves have greater endurance than Men, I know, but there are limits in all things. And Lord Gimli, like Legolas, strikes me as the type who is better at looking out for the interests of others than he is for his own.  Which makes what I am about to ask him seem all the more ridiculous, but I am resolved.

 

“Legolas sounded as if you might have bruised him, or worse, earlier tonight,” I tell one of my father’s closest friends, a war hero and a guardian whom Legolas himself had just defended from the charge of any wrong-doing.

 

Gimli pauses, much taken aback.  After a moment he replies with gruff kindness, “And what brings you to that wrong –headed idea, youngling? For I know well that I didna hurt my lad, and I am quite sure I would have heard the struggle had you asked him for a look at his rear. Either that, or your cry of pain when one of his arrows found its mark between your eyes.”

 

I blush. I am intruding on a very private matter, and I know it. I knew it before I chose to say anything to either party, and normally I would respect their right to privacy. But not where the well being of a friend is at stake, however unlikely the injury might be.

 

 “I did not dare ask him,” I tell Gimli, “But I do not trust his assurance that he is fine.”

 

 In fact, I don’t really trust Legolas’ ability to evaluate when he is ‘fine’ at all, but I don’t need to say that much. 

 

The dwarf’s dark eyes narrow thoughtfully.

 

“Well, you may trust mine.” He says at last, seeming to ponder whether he should say more. I do the same.

 

After a moment, I speak again. “Your word, then, that you were not too rough with him? Did not bruise him, or mark him, or leave him in poor condition to travel tomorrow?” 

 

“I know my own strength, Faramir.” Gimli growls softly, “And I know my elf. I have NEVER harmed him in such a way as you suggest, and I never will. No matter how he endeavors to foolishly risk his own neck and to put me in the position of having to remind him that he is NOT to get hurt or die. Not on my watch. Not on anyone’s, if I have anything to say about it.”

 

With that, I have to be satisfied. Gimli takes his leave of me. Then I watch as a few brave stars of the morning flare and then succumb to pale dawn’s glow. A sickly light, in this place, but still a welcome one.

 


	4. Faramir's pov

 

 

[Faramir POV]

 

 

The atmosphere at breakfast is a bit strained. Both Gimli and Legolas seem a bit out of sorts with me, and I do not blame them. We do not linger long over our cold meal, but break camp just as the sun rises high enough for me to see sufficiently well to guide our way.

 

I forget my discomfort as the morning wears on, so intent am I upon showing my companions the hidden ways of the land I have loved and served since I first became a ranger. Never have I taught these paths to someone who was not a fellow ranger. Never had I thought to be fortunate enough to share them with a dwarf and an elf in peace-time. Assuredly, the lingering unhealthiness of the land still offends me, but as trees which would have sought to trip me only two years hence now merely murmur their discontent, I feel my spirits lift.

 

By noon, Legolas even seems to let go of his annoyance with me. Instead he views me with admiration and a small amount of annoyance.

 

 “Faramir, that wasn’t even a deer trail.” He points out indignantly in respect of a path I had just set us upon, one ever so faint and also hidden under the branches of a willow. “It wasn’t even a chipmunk trail.” He continues, sounding insulted, “I didn’t see it.” The unspoken, I suppose, was that if Legolas hadn’t seen it, how had I, a human, managed?

 

“So I don’t know how you managed to find it, being a man!” Legolas ends.

 

Ah. So not so unspoken, I think to myself. I duck my head to hide a smile as Legolas huffs a disgruntled protest in response to a reprimand from Gimli.

 

“It is well.” I reply calmly. It does not make sense to me to take offense to Legolas stating the plain truth that his senses are entirely more acute than mine.

 

“Faramir’s father is no poor tracker, himself,” Gimli scolds the still displeased Legolas, “As you may recall from our journey o’er the plains of Rohan!”

 

“Yes, Gimli, but that was just one example. More often it was I who found our way…” Legolas cut himself off suddenly, his head turning sharply to look to the darker trees on our left; the trees, which face the east.

 

A moment later, the birds – those few brave enough to inhabit these woods- go quiet. Wordlessly, we all draw our weapons, and arrange ourselves to face the as-yet unknown threat.

 

 

 

 

“Something comes,” Legolas whispers, “Fast, scared, careless. On two feet. Smaller than a man.”

 

It is a human boy, almost a teen; perhaps ten, or even as old as twelve. I signal to my companions to remain vigilant, and put down my own weapons.

 

The boy stumbles in surprise. At first his eyes light up with relief upon beholding me in my ranger’s clothes, but a second look at the odder sight of Legolas and Gimli gives him pause.

 

“Calmly, lad.” I reassure him, “I am the Prince of this land. Lord Gimli and Prince Legolas are my companions, and the friends of King Elessar. We mean you no harm.”

 

“Please…sirs…” The boy begs, “My brother! My father…the monsters, they took them!”

 

We take further pains to comfort the child, seeing to his cuts and bruises and giving him food and water whilst gently interrogating him. Internally, I sigh, suddenly sure that we are likely to get to see more of Minas Morgul than even Legolas might have wished-and not in the disinterested role of sightseers.

 

The boy’s story is simple but terrifying. He and his father and brother are goatherds. The beasts they were tending were startled by the high winds yestereve, and fled in the direction of the dark city.  The boy and his kin were pursuing when one of the goats screamed, and they became surrounded by frightening sounds.

 

“They were ghosts, they were!” The boy gasped, “Evil spirits, like in them stories.”

 

I exchange a worried glance with Legolas and Gimli. Evil spirits they likely weren’t. In my experience, incorporeal beings rarely have much in the way of an appetite for goat flesh. But that whatever the child had seen  - whatever had taken his brother- was evil, we did not doubt.

 

“M’ father went after ‘im.” The boy hiccupps, now crying, “’E told me to go for help, but I got lost! Our village has messenger riders and militia, but I couldn’t FIND it. I couldn’t, and I…”

 

“’Twasn’t your fault, lad.” Gimli assures the youngling with gruff kindness. Between the three of us, we get the child settled before taking a moment to confer amongst ourselves.

 

“Someone must go to rescue the child,” I say quietly.

 

“We should find a safe place to leave this young boy, then immediately make our way towards Minas Morgul at our fastest pace,” Legolas asserts, as if coiled with tension.

 

And I understand why. I, too, feel horror and a desperate urge to go to the rescue. It is one of my people who is at the mercy of whatever evil has taken him. 

 

Legolas turns towards Gimli, who had been quietly considering the matter. 

 

 “Gimli, you should take the boy back to the last village we passed, and from there send message riders to the nearest White Company Garrison.”

 

Gimli doesn’t immediately contradict Legolas, but the fearsome scowl on his face promises that an objection is coming.  I am not sure exactly what form it will take, but Lord Gimli has in the past been extremely reluctant to leave Legolas and I to our own devices.  He, quite justifiably, believes that I lead Legolas into trouble. Were I willing to endanger Legolas, then his plan might be the best.  Gimli is not as fast a runner over long distances as Legolas or I. For him to go back to take the boy to safety would make the most sense. However, I do not feel that it is right to ask either of my companions to risk themselves in this endeavor.

 

“Your plan has merit, Legolas,” I praise quietly.  “However, the decision is mine. I would ask that you both carry word back to the nearest Ranger garrison. I shall go alone with our young goatherd to his village, and follow the trail to where his brother was taken, even if it leads into Minas Morgul.” 

 

Even as I say this, I immediately think to myself, ‘Aragorn is going to kill me’. The one place in my princedom that he made me promise to wait until he deemed it safe enough before entering, and I find myself planning to go there to face who knows what. Well, ‘who knows what’ has one of my people, and if Adar doesn’t like that I must at least try to rescue him, then that is just too bad.’

 

Gimli and Legolas, meanwhile, are staring at me as if they think that I must have gone mad.

 

“Have you gone mad?” Legolas asks sharply. “Send you, alone, to face such a potentially formidable foe?  We are as brothers. We would never send you alone!”

 

“Well-said, my lad,” Gimli agrees, a dangerous gleam in his eye as he studies me, “You are only going alone to the east over my dead body, Faramir son of Aragorn.”

 

I couldn’t help gaping at the stalwart dwarf for the better part of a minute.  I had no idea that he would feel so strongly about anything I do which I am not planning to involve Legolas in. It confuses me, but I present my argument for why my plan is the best.

 

“I understand – and appreciate- your desire to stand at my side. I would be honored to have you accompany me,” I say earnestly. “However, someone who can run quickly and then ride fast must go to alert the garrisons to summon support, while another party goes to rescue the child.  Despite your greater stamina and better night vision, it is I who knows the tunnels and paths of this area,”  I sigh, and add, “Also, I am the lord of this land.  Minas Ithil and all of the trouble it causes are my responsibility.”

 

Gimli laughs and shakes his head disbelievingly, “You truly do not see how terrible your ‘plan’ is, young Faramir? ‘Tis no wonder that your father prefers to keep you in the company of cooler heads! They’ve a better chance of keeping you alive.”

 

I find that statement highly offensive. Legolas is nodding reluctantly as if what Gimli just said made very good sense, even if he didn’t like it, and even if he felt rather badly to have to agree with Gimli on this point in front of me.

 

Still blushing brightly with irritation and shame at what my father would think of this, I tell Gimli, “Ithilien would not do well to have caused the deaths of two war heroes and foreign magnates such as yourselves. It is best that the two of you go for aid, and return with greater force to support me.”

 

 I do not want Legolas and Gimli to die in joining a rescue mission, which is my responsibility, and mine alone.

 

Gimli mumbles something about young fools and me being almost worse than Legolas under his breath. Then he straightens up, and looked me fiercely in the eye. “Faramir, ye canna go alone to Minas Morgul to rescue the child. I forbid it.” 

 

Curious. Gimli doesn’t have any official authority in Ithilien, I think to myself. I don’t want to offend him, but I do rule here.

 

“I am sorry that you are upset,” I begin, not quailing at the even darker expression on the dwarf’s face, “However, I am the Prince of this land. The only orders I am subject to within my own demesne are my King’s, and he isn’t here now.”

 

 That was all true, however I must admit that if the King my father were here, I would be in a great deal of trouble. And he did order me not to go into Minas Morgul, but he didn’t know that there would be a child imprisoned there. If he’d known, he wouldn’t have asked for that promise.

 

Gimli favors me with a ferocious glare.

 

Legolas sighs, and then speaks up.

 

“Faramir, trust me when I tell you that Gimli will not be gainsaid on this matter. And what is more, he is right. In order for you to go alone to Minas Ithil, you would have to physically restrain the two of us; which you can’t. Although to be fair,” Legolas adds in a conciliatory manner, “You might be able to if you had the time to come up with some sneaky plan. But you don’t. Fortunately.”

 

“Very well,” I agree, with a sigh of mingled reluctance and relief. More thoughtfully, I add, “I do not think that we need to divide our force to summon aid. I know the village the boy speaks of – there are several retired rangers who call that hamlet home. They are…  too old… for active combat service, but would certainly be capable of carrying word of this trouble to the nearest outpost of Ithilien’s messenger relay.”

 

Gimli still appears excessively annoyed, but that doesn’t stop him from nodding in approval. “Now you are thinking, lad.”

 

We follow through on that plan, and are all relieved to find the young goatherd’s father had himself returned to the village. We promise to do our best to return his older son, and depart at best pace for Minas Morgul.

 

XXXX

 


	5. Legolas' point of view

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Illustrations by Bethann*

 

 

It is always sad to see the desperation in the faces of those whose loved ones have gone missing in the environs of any seat of evil, whether they be mortal kind or not. The old man does not hold out much hope of seeing his son alive again, or at least not as he knew him. Too many have disappeared or been found wandering in a state of terror over the last years for anyone to cling too much hope.

 

Yet he was cheered to see Faramir, Gimli and myself and was grateful that we at least would attempt a rescue of his son.

 

I have not voiced my thoughts aloud, as I am not, despite evidence to the contrary, that suicidal, but even had both Faramir and Gimli vetoed this attempt I would have gone on with it alone if necessary. I would leave none to the torture and terror that are their lot when they fall into the hands of such twisted malevolent power as seems to still inhabit Minas Morgul. And the sad likelihood is that is where we must go, for if the boy had not been taken there he surely would have returned by now or we would have seen some sign of him before now for we are now well down the valley  and so far nothing but a few stray goats, who are very sensibly moving back to the village of their own accord, have crossed our path. The further we traverse the more unpleasant is the atmosphere. What trees there are, are twisted and dark and noisome smells hang in the air choking our throats and making our eyes sting.

 

Faramir and Gimli, while focused on the rescue, seem to be somewhat on edge with each other, which given Faramir’s misguided attempts to persuade my hirsute guardian that he should spare the rod or in this case the hand as far as I was concerned is unsurprising. I like Faramir very much but I sometimes do not understand him. His heart is in the right place and I am grateful for his concern for me, but it was unwarranted.  My dwarf is not cruel.  He does not punish for pleasure or even to inflict pain. Rather he does it in an attempt to guide and correct me, to prove to me that I must take better care of myself, think before I act and remember that an immortal life can be foreshortened just as a mortal one can.  Death comes to an elf less readily than a man or dwarf but it is always a possibility in battle.

 

I look at Gimli as he moves easily up the path, his great axe slung across his shoulder. Was there ever a stronger, more caring or loving creature than he? Dwarves do not give their trust easily, for when it is given is given for good. An oath taken is stronger than life itself and far more important. Gimli took an oath to care for me, as a father to a son, and so he does, with love, kindness, charity and a little judicious discipline. Something, which, while I may not choose to always acknowledge it, I know I still need.

 

Faramir’s concern shows me that he knows little of either dwarven nature, or perhaps and this is something that gives me pause, that his own experiences at the hands of those in a position to guide and correct him have not been good ones. I think back to what I have learned about his ‘father’ Denethor. Boromir who was the favored son always said his father was a stern and forbidding man, weighed down by the cares of his position as Steward and with the ever growing threat of Mordor to deal with.

 

Faramir with his love of lore and poetry, who fights because he must not because he wishes to, must have found it hard to live up to Lord Denethor’s demands. Not because he lacked strength or will but because his mind set was so different.

 

Perhaps it is not so surprising then that he was concerned over how Gimli would deal with me over my disobedience, someone who has been cruelly treated themselves must fear for others.

 

I must take the time to speak with Faramir to try and explain to him that in the loving trusting relationship that Gimli and I have, there is acceptance and a knowledge that crimes must be paid for and that for an elf, living with guilt is perhaps more dangerous than anything. Guilt leads to despair and despair can lead to fading. I know I am safe in the hands of my dwarf and he will not let me fall into gloom and despondency. His actions give me an opportunity to release all those fears and to know that in the aftermath there will be forgiveness and comfort.  If Faramir has lacked those things in the past he will not do so now for Aragorn is another who knows the true benefit of what he offers.

 

For the present we have more important things to think of, but as soon as the opportunity presents itself I will speak with my friend and explain why it is that I do not need to be protected from Gimli but also that I am grateful for his efforts on my behalf.  After all it showed real bravery to stand up to my dwarf as he did and question his actions so Faramir is either very brave or very foolish or perhaps a mixture of both!

 

Finally we come in sight of the ruined city of Minas Ithil, and Gimli insists we take a rest and decide on how we will proceed from here.

 

All of us had hoped against hope that we would find the boy before now, but we are none of us surprised that we have not and we now know we must brave the city itself.

 

It will not be the first time I have entered such a place, although not known to many and certainly not to my father I have braved the fortress of Dol Guldur more than once and have witnessed first-hand the horror of the slave pits deep beneath its surface. Sauron had fled from there before I was old enough to travel south with the patrols, but the place was soon re-populated by Orc and Nazgûl and was a hell hole such as I had no desire to witness again.

 

Minas Morgul is larger of course, but was originally built by the exiles of Númenor on the borders of Mordor to keep a watch on that land.  When it was captured by the Nazgûl it was renamed Minas Morgul. Within its dark shadowed walls it is claimed a palantír stood, known as the Ithil-stone if indeed that is truth.  No doubt Sauron made good use of it to entrap and confuse his enemies. I wonder if it is still there or if it was removed or destroyed. It seems I may soon have an opportunity to find out.

 

I admit to wanting to have a closer look at Minas Ithil, but perhaps not quite as close as seems likely to be the case now.

 

As we sit quietly I try and visualize the interior of the tower. Long ago as it seems to me now I read about the architecture and structures of the Númenórean civilization and having spent time in Minas Tirith I have some idea on the likely layout, although years of occupation by the minions of Sauron will have changed it somewhat the basics should be the same.

 

If the goatherd is still alive it is likely he will be held either high in one of the towers or in the pits beneath the main structure. I barely prevent the shudder that wants to run down my spine at that thought. Of course the likelihood is that he is already dead if indeed it is Orc that have captured him. They like to torture and torment their captives but rarely keep them alive long once they have had their fun for a source of fresh man flesh would be too tempting to leave for long. I look at my companions and see the same concern in their eyes.  If we are to save this boy we must make plans and move soon.

 

“We may be able to slip in by following the stream,” Faramir says, “The stonework from the destroyed bridge would afford us some cover.”

 

Gimli who has been scrutinizing the city closely from our hidden vantage point nods but then says, “But where would that get us? We need to have an idea where they are keeping the boy. We canna just go clattering about calling the lad’s name.   Lamb, see if ye can a mite closer and spy out the land for us.  See if ye can spot any life.  It looks too damned quiet to me.”

 

“It may be that the Orc are waiting for sunset,”

 

“Well we certainly don’t want to do the same.”

 

I do not join in the conversation but slip from our hiding place and ease my way towards the tower. The statues that adorned the bridge that Gimli destroyed are no longer lying broken some have been placed upright again, which confirms our fears that evil of some kind remains in Minas Ithil.  My senses tell me that Orc are nearby, for their usual stench is in the air but there is something else here as well…something that makes my flesh creep, Nazgûl …

 

But surely they were all lost when Barad-dûr fell.  Perhaps it is just the residue of that evil that I can feel. Just as I am convincing myself of this fact, an unearthly scream rings out making me jump.  A fell beast then?

 

That would make some sort of sense, for they were closely allied to the Dark Lord and if one was left here the Orc would make sure it was cared for.  They have not the intelligence to realize that its master would not return. Perhaps that might account for taking the goats but not the boy.  Again I shudder as I think of his fate.

 

My eyes narrow as I watch the ruins of the tower and I see movement through the ruined apertures that once no doubt housed fine glass. Certainly there is something there moving, the shadows dance and weave as wind flits through the stonework, not Orc, nor ring wraith for I would recognize them even from this distance. Red and black robes show against the failing light briefly but I do not need any longer to identify them: Haradrim.

 

The men of Far Harad have a reputation for cruelty towards their prisoners that ranks alongside that of the Orc.

 

I move forward again, straining every fiber and am rewarded by the faint cries of a human voice. The boy lives then! For how much longer I cannot guess, but at least we will know now what it is we face and where we may hope to find Arvedui son of Artamir. They seem to be holding him in the central ruined courtyard. Despite the years of destruction, high walls still circle that space and to enter or leave requires someone to cross an open space that would leave them vulnerable to attack from above. While much of the city is in ruins still there are sufficient high spaces where the enemy may watch and wait. I almost despair but then see a small area partially hidden from the watchtowers.  The wall is high and smooth; no mortal could scale it.

 

If I could climb there I might reach the courtyard beyond unseen, rescue Arvedui and then lower him to the ground by rope to where Faramir and Gimli would be waiting. With good fortune we might be away before the alarm was raised.

 

For now I must return to my friends and tell them what I have found out, not to mention to prepare for the arguments I am sure will follow when I tell them my plans.

 

“I willn’a hear of it”

 

Well I knew this would be the most difficult part of the rescue, getting my dwarf to agree to waiting at the bottom of the wall while I climb up.

 

“Gimli,” I repeat as patiently as I can, “even with all your strength and determination you would have the greatest difficulty in making the climb.”

 

I know, he knows this just as I know he does not wish to see me in danger when he cannot be close enough to offer me his support.

 

“I will go up with him Lord Gimli.”

  
I blink as Faramir speaks.  Does he think he is capable of scaling that wall? As if he can read my thoughts the steward explains further.

 

“Once Legolas has made the climb he may drop down a rope and I can then follow him up to offer him cover.”

 

Gimli is even less impressed by this suggestion, but I can see that he is struggling to come up with an alternative and we all know how desperate this situation is.  Still he manages to throw a rub into our way.

 

 “We haven’a enough rope.”

 

“I do not need it.”

 

“But we will have to use it to lower the boy. Even you could not make that descent with the additional weight.”

 

Now it is my turn to glower, but then I lift my head.

 

 “Someone is coming this way.” I hiss.

 

Immediately we prepare ourselves but then relax as Faramir recognizes the first of two men who slip quietly into view. It appears they are the retired rangers he spoke of and they have come to offer their services. What is more they bring rope.

 

The climb is every bit as arduous as I feared, but I manage it and drop down the rope so that Faramir can follow me to the top of the ramparts. The rangers are going to set up a racket beside the ruined bridge. It may draw some of the creatures away at least.

 

Gimli is fairly dancing with frustration but his role is just as important as mine although he will not admit it of course.

 

Faramir climbs up quite efficiently for a mortal, and we both turn and look down into the ruined courtyard and both draw in a sharp breath at what we see below us.

 

It is not just Haradrim, but Orc as well, perhaps twenty in number at least those that we can see. The Orc appear to be taking orders from the Haradrim.  Perhaps they were left here when the main forces left, or perhaps they fled here after the battle at the Black Gate and have been here ever since. That explains the strange noises and the disappearances.  They will have done their best to keep people away from here so that their presence was not reported to Gondor’s forces.

 

I sniff the air, there is more here than Orc, a smell that is vaguely familiar and horrifying, yet surely if it had been one of the nine I would have felt their existence earlier.

 

“Faramir” I whisper, “there is something more here.”

 

He is looking about him, scanning the courtyard.

 

 “You are right. The sooner we are away from here the better.  Look - there is Arvedui.”

 

 He points in the direction of a wooden cage at the far end of the court. In it is the boy.  He appears to be unharmed at least relatively so, although he is clearly terrified and the Orc are poking and howling at him as they pass and there is a bloodied rag tied around one of his legs. If he has difficulty walking, that will make getting away more difficult.

 

Faramir has obviously seen the same thing.

 

 “We will both have to go down to him,” he whispers, “he is injured and petrified. If we make our way round to that side we can wait until the rangers start up the distraction.”

 

I nod agreement and after a brief wave to Gimli we creep down the side of the battlement keeping as best as we can to the shadows.

 

We get quite close, and Faramir even manages to exchange a word or two with him, warning him not to show any sign that we are near but to be ready when we open the door to his cage.

 

“I can’t walk my Lord,” the boy whispers, “I reckon my knee is busted up.”

 

“Then I will carry you,” Faramir replies, “and Legolas will cover our retreat. We will have you back with your family soon lad.”

 

Arvedui sobs and one of the Haradrim looks in his direction. I hold my breath but then there is a loud noise from the ruined bridge. Orc and men run in that direction and Faramir and I rush forward, break open the cage and haul the boy out. With Faramir half carrying half dragging Arvedui back up to the battlements it is left to me to keep off any pursuit.

 

We reach the rope where Gimli still stands, and I help Faramir and the boy over the edge so they can begin their descent, they have almost reached half way when one of the Haradrim spots that the cage is empty and all hell breaks loose.

 

I pick off the first few Orc but know that it will come to hand to hand fighting if I am to give Faramir sufficient time to get the boy away. Once my quiver is emptied I toss my bow over the wall-better it is out of the way- and unsheathe my twin knives. I move away from the place where Faramir is descending the wall, hoping to draw our attackers away, but they stand back as if they do not need to pursue me. Indeed some have run in the opposite direction and others are hurrying to find cover and then I realize why and why I thought there was more evil here than just the Orc and men.

 

A tremendous hissing and bellowing issues from the darkness under a part of the ruined main tower. Not a Nazgûl but a Fell Beast. Without a bow I have little chance of bringing it down. I scour the ground around me, and find an old pike. I must keep its attention away from the others at whatever the cost to myself.

 

 

I can see as it lumbers forward that one of its wings seems to be damaged, which perhaps will keep it on the ground rather than flying, which is a mercy. I dart between the ruined pillars drawing the beast away from the wall. This is the closest I have been to one, and I hope never to be so close again.  They are unnatural creatures. Mithrandir spoke of them saying they had been bred by Sauron himself, in the north of Mordor a region that was called Lithlad but are now known as the Vale of the Fell Beasts.

 

They were bred from an unholy alliance of dragons and giant serpents and appear to have the worst traits of both. Wings, fangs, poisonous spines, giant claws and a mouth like a steel trap. The beast is clumsy on its feet, but its neck shoots out like a snake about to strike its prey as it tries to catch me and the odor of venom fills the space between us. I leap backwards to avoid it and to my horror find I have stepped into thin air, where the battlement has dropped away. My startled cry mingles with the shriek of the beast as its jaws reach down towards my tumbling body then everything goes mercifully black.


	6. Gimli's Point of View

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Illustrations by Bethann*

 

 

My heart in my mouth, I stand watching as Legolas scales the wall that on first glance looks perfectly smooth.  On closer inspection I can see places where the stone barely juts out to provide very small handholds and footholds, but even so it is a dangerous, treacherous climb, even for so skilled an elf as my lad.  I breathe a sigh of relief when he reaches the relative safety of the top of the wall, though I know there are untold dangers ahead for him, and for Faramir, who dexterously manages the wall himself once a length of rope is dropped down to him.   After that there is nothing to do but wait.

 

What was I thinking when I agreed to this madness?  Letting my elfling beyond reach of my aid goes against all principle, and yet the goatherd’s son could not be left to his fate and I could not come up with a better idea of how to rescue him.  Still it is frustrating to wait here not knowing what is taking place inside.  After a while Legolas’ bow comes hurtling over the wall and I am both relieved and terrified at the same time, for he must have pitched it over himself to get it out of the way, which means he still lives.  It also means he has already spent all of his arrows and is now fighting hand to hand.  Soon after I see Faramir come over the wall, with the boy who clings to Faramir’s back.  They have been hastily strapped together with a quiver strap for good measure.  The child is  quite slender and small and yet I fear that his additional weight will be too much for Faramir and they will both tumble to their death before my eyes.

 

I stand directly below them, thinking I might be able to catch the boy should he fall.  While they are less than halfway down, I hear a familiar sound that sends chills down my spine!  A great hissing noise followed by an earsplitting bellow makes me realize there are more than orc and Haradrim behind the wall.  It is the sound of  a Hell-Hawk, the flying beasts that served as steeds for the Nazgul.  I did not know any of them yet lived!

 

As Faramir and the boy come into my reach, I take hold of the child to relieve Faramir of his weight and help him down from the wall.  As Faramir steps down, we both look up hoping to see Legolas close behind him.  To our horror we first get a strong whiff of the acrid scent of venom and then hear the screech of  the beast followed by Legolas’ startled cry and then the sickening sound of a body falling.  We look at one a nother for one horrifying moment and then we both scramble to get to the rope.  I grab at it first, but Faramir clasps my arm. 

 

“I will be faster.  Take the child to the rangers, then come back for us.”

 

Blind terror makes me fight him for a moment, but then common sense prevails and I realize Faramir is right.  We must do what makes the most sense and getting myself killed will not help my elfling.  For that matter Faramir’s death won’t help him either.

 

“You’ll be killed, lad.  We need to think for a moment.”

 

“They will not kill me, Gimli.  The Haradrim deal in slaves.  They will wish to keep me in good condition.   I know what to say to get them to let me help Legolas.  I can tend him while you find a way to free us.”

 

I nod. It is as good a plan as any and there is little time to debate it.  Legolas needs assistance now, if it isn’t too late already.  My head spins and my vision blurs at the thought, but I take a deep breath to clear it, for to panic now would mean certain death for my lad.

 

“Give me twenty four hours to free you. If I do not arrive in that time, then do your best to escape without me.”

 

Faramir nods and grabs the rope up high again, but I place a hand on his arm.

 

“Do not try to bring him out if he is…” I cut off what I was about to say for the words make me quite sick and to say them might make them real.  Still this is important.  “Do not risk your life for a corpse, Faramir. Promise me.”

 

“I won’t,” he promises and then quickly scales the wall again. 

 

I watch until I see him go over the top and then turn determinedly toward the boy.  I must not let myself harbor such dark thoughts again, for I must keep my courage up and my wits about me if either Legolas or Faramir are to have any hope of escape.  For the first time I take a close look at Arvedui who is watching me with terrified eyes.  No telling what the poor lad has been through or what he is thinking as he looks at me now for he has no way to know if I am friend or foe in this dismal place.

 

“Come lad, there are men about waiting to take ye to your family. Can ye walk?”

 

Arvedui shakes his head and indicates his knee, which I see is wrapped in some sort of bloody cloth. 

 

“I will carry ye then,” I tell him.  “Dinna be afraid, child. I mean ye no harm.”

 

I see he is trembling, whether from fear, shock or the cold I cannot tell, but I wrap my cloak around him and lift him as gently as I can to avoid causing him further injury. I also think to retrieve Legolas’ bow so that I can leave it in the wreckage of the damaged bridge where we can find it later.   I then make my way as quickly as possible to the damaged bridge, all the while forming a plan.  When I arrive at the bridge,  the two rangers who assisted us earlier are waiting to take the boy from me.  I hide the bow under some rubble as I quickly explain to the men what has happened and then tell them what I have in mind.

 

“I must convince them I am in the market for slaves and buy them back,” I explain. 

 

Immediately I search for whatever valuables I can find.  The few gold coins in my pocket won’t be enough to purchase slaves, but the mithril handled knife in my boot along with the jewel-encrusted cloak pin that was a gift from my father given to me upon my return from the war might do the trick.  I hadn’t meant to wear it into the wilderness, but had forgotten to remove it before we set out.  And thank Mahal for that for something so beautifully crafted will surely get the attention of the greedy slave mongers. 

 

The rangers help me out by handing over a purse filled with gold coins, explaining that they keep it on hand for just this purpose.  It seems these ‘retired’ rangers are part of the spy network that regularly sneaks Gondor’s soldiers into the lands of their enemies, sometimes disguised as Haradrim slave dealers.  On more than one occasion they have had to purchase back some of their own people.

 

Evidently the ranger spies who often pose as a Haradrim slave traders and are fluent in their southern language are too far afield to be of assistance to my lad or Faramir, so I do not have that avenue of aid, but the ranger named Baradan  has some advice that should help me in my task.

 

“I recognized several of the Haradrim slavers reentering the city. The guards are probably meant to allow other slave traders to enter,” Baradan tells me, “but you will not make it through if you don’t put on a convincing show.  You must say you were sent by Jibran and ask for the chief merchant by the name of Haashim.”

 

I nod and repeat both names to imprint them in my brain.

 

“But you must wait until morning,” the second ranger, a man named Firendor, adds.  “At night you are likely to be troubled by orc and there will be no one about who will have authority to make a deal with you.

 

My head reels at this information, for how can I leave my friends behind that wall all night long?  And yet I need to work smart and give myself the best possible circumstances to succeed.  I must think with my head and not with my heart, for the heart will often will lead even a well-meaning person astray.  It will take all of my self-control to follow that advice, but I will not have a second chance to make this work. 

 

I spend the night thinking about what I know about the layout of Minas Tirith and how that applies to the design of Minas Ithil and also practicing over and over a Haradrim greeting that will hopefully stand me in good stead with the chief merchant.  After that I divide my time between praying to the Valar for assistance and pacing in the shadows until the sun finally begins to rise. 

 

I place the coin purse in plain site, where I can easily flash my new found wealth around to draw the eye of the slave traders, but I also keep my axe held tightly in my grasp to prevent myself being waylaid and robbed.  I then keep to the shadows as long as I can, but when that is no longer possible step boldly into the street trying to be as loud and intimidating as possible.  There is no way for a dwarf to blend into this place, so my best bet is to stand out and not look as if I am trying to sneak about. 

 

The Haradrim guard quickly close in around the main entrance of the half crumbled tower and one steps toward me raising his dagger, but before he can come too close I shake my axe threateningly in his face. 

 

“Ye’d best step aside, friend,” I tell him.  Here I rattle the coin purse, with my free hand.  “I am looking for the man Haashim, and I am in a hurry.  Take me to him immediately.”

 

I see the guards exchange glances, likely realizing that it is easy to strike a good bargain with someone who is in a rush.  One leads me inside where a dark haired, dark eyed man sits at a desk of sorts writing in some kind of ledger.  He wears a robe of black and red and his thick black plaits are braided with gold.  Hoping this is Haashim, I greet him in his own language.  He speaks back to me, but of course I do not understand him. 

 

“I do not speak Southron, my lord,” I explain with a slight bow.   “I was taught this greeting by the man Jibran who sent me to speak with ye.  He said ye might be in the business to cut a quick deal.”

 

Again I flash the gold coins and I am gratified to see a gleam light the man’s black eyes.  He exchanges a few words with the guard and then I breathe a sigh of relief as the guard’s dagger is lowered and he makes his way back outside.  

 

“And how may I assist you, Master…?”  the man asks in his accented Westron.

 

“Einor, son of  Egil,” I supply thinking fast.  “I am looking for the merchant, Haashim.”

 

“I am Haashim,”  he informs me.  “What business have you here?”

 

“I am told ye do trade in human flesh,” I explain, “and to tell the pure truth I need to cut a fast deal if I can.  I passed a Gondorian patrol on my way and would like to get out ahead of them as they don’t seem to take kindly to this sort of thing.  Damned humans can’t seem to mind their own affairs!”

 

“Indeed,” Haashim agrees with me, but then narrows his eyes suspiciously.  “I have never known dwarves to be favorable to slaving either.”

 

“Very true, in most cases,” I tell him, “but my kin were banished from Erebor some time ago by the hoity toity longbeards there, who think they are too noble to make use of such resources.  We who have settled in the Ash Mountains here about recognize their effectiveness and place in our economy.   Besides someone has to shovel away the ash!” 

 

I wink and elbow Haashim conspiratorially, and he offers me a thin smile. 

 

“I see,” Haashim says standing to lead me down a long corridor.  “Our latest collection have just been taken south the day before yesterday, but I have a new captive that might strike your interest. A human male.   Freshly caught only yesterday, mind you, so it will be in need of training, but seemingly strong and in good condition.”

 

I feel my heart sink at that information.  Only one human captive means that something has happened to my elfling.  My knees go weak, but I must keep my face neutral if I am to free Faramir. 

 

When we enter the courtyard, the first thing I notice is the fell beast that is now held in place with great irons around its neck and legs.  It seems to have a damaged wing for if it did not even these precautions likely wouldn’t hold it.  My stomach turns over and I shudder as it flits through my mind that perhaps this was my lad’s fate, that perhaps he was already eaten by this monster.  Again I quickly banish the thought, for to despair too soon will not help anyone. 

 

When I am finally brought over to the cell where captives are held, I feel almost faint with relief!  As I expected, Faramir is there, sporting some scrapes and bruises on his face, but looking well enough considering the circumstances, but my heart sings when I see that Legolas is with him as well.  His right arm and lower right leg have been crudely splinted and a deep scratch decorates his neck and disappears under his tunic, which is soaked with dried blood.  He is covered with contusions and dark bruises and he appears to be unconscious, but he is at least still living. Otherwise Faramir would not have bothered with treating his wounds.  I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood to prevent myself crying out with joy. It is all I can do not to go to him immediately.   Faramir looks up at me and I can see a spark in his eye before he looks down to hide his expression.


	7. Faramir's Point of view

 

**[Faramir POV, previous day, after Legolas falls]**

I gain the top of the wall and race towards the sound of Legolas’ cry and fall. The scene I find is chaos. Legolas lies on the rubble below. Bits of wood and rotted fabric surround him. It seems that a mostly rotted awning has broken his fall, at least partially.

 

I spot the blackish gray Fell beast approaching Legolas menacingly on its awkward feet.  On the other side of the stone street, men of Harad scramble about. Some of them are trying to stop the beast, others are peering about to see what it has cornered.  Some are just doing their best to stay out of its way.

 

I cannot be sure that Legolas lives, but there is no time for hesitation. I scramble down the crumbling walls to stand between Legolas and the growling, snapping hell hawk.  My hands sweat as I move into a high guard stance before the long-necked beast. 

 

Well do I remember the Nazgul-bird I faced in the days of the Ring War.  My father tells me that I may always be sensitive to evil of its kind, as it was in large part from such dark influence that I nearly died. 

 

The Nazgul-bird is, at least, taken aback by my rather abrupt appearance. I suppose that a hell-hawk of Sauron simply doesn’t expect its food to wave a sword about in such an uppity manner.  Unfortunately, the fell-beast quickly recovers from its surprise. Its fanged face darts forward, perhaps having decided that if I am keeping it away from an elven dinner, I will make a fine human appetizer.

 

I swing my sword towards the beast’s neck, then at the last moment roll under its feet.  I time the move too closely and hit the ground resoundingly hard, grateful again as my shoulder holds under the strain. My sword just barely connects with the creature near the base of its oddly shaped shoulders. Dark ichor drips onto my other shoulder, but the wound is scarcely more than a nick and does nothing but further enrage the hell-beast.  He – well I assume it is a he –contorts his body unbelievably quickly, and I find myself in front of his fangs again.

 

The fell-beast roars, his maw moving unerringly for my throat. This time I roll to the side, trying to keep the Nazgul-bird away from Legolas whilst staying out of killing range myself. I am not entirely successful as I dodge him yet again.  The creature’s long tail lashes out behind him and smacks Legolas’ nearer leg. My heart constricts in worry at what further damage might have been done, but at least Legolas’ movement in curling his body away from the blow reassures me that he is alive.

 

I shout at the Hell-hawk, hoping to keep his attention on me. It works, and we dance the same dance again, he and I. This time I am almost too slow. I feel the beast’s fangs snag the bottom of my boot, slamming me down hard upon the ground.  I am already rolling when I land, and manage to come up once again between the fell-beast and my friend.

 

I do not know how much longer I can last. To my surprise and relief – for I had almost forgotten the Haradrim slave traders in all of this - multiple metal collars attached to long poles descend over the dragon-like neck of the beast and begin to pull it away from me. I had never thought that I would be grateful for my human enemies having regained their composure, but today I am.  I know that my feelings will change soon when their attention turns to me – unless of course the beast gets loose and kills us all – but for now I silently bless them and run to Legolas’ side, intending to make the best of whatever time I have.

 

‘Praise Eru, he does indeed still breathe.’ I think to myself, before quickly proceeding to do my best to make sure that he stays that way. Taking a closer look at my friend, I am relieved to see that his airways seem clear and his spinal cord and ribcage intact. Legolas’ right arm lies at an unnatural angle, but what concerns me more is the bloody line on his neck.

 

Working hurriedly, I tear off a section of my undershirt and press it down on the wound, in between the scarlet stain on his shirt and his torn skin.  There is a viscous, sticky substance on top of the blood. Fell-beast venom.  I spare a split-second to hope that the Haradrim will be forced to kill the monster, before using the water and the linen to do my best to clean away the poison. A great deal of it has already been absorbed into Legolas’ blood stream, but cleaning the wound and washing the spent venom away may help.

 

Just as I finish, I feel a blade come to rest at the back of my neck.

 

“What are you doing here, Gondorian mad man?” A harsh voice speculates in Southron.

 

I squeeze Legolas’ hand gently and then turn to face our captors, the enemy’s sword cutting lightly across my throat as I do so. A mere scratch, but it makes a point. Despite my bold words to Gimli, keeping us both alive will be no easy thing.

 

“Go ahead and kill me,” I tell these hard men, “But it would be your own loss. I'm worth much more to you alive than dead.”

 

Luck is with us. They find my argument persuasive, and we are roughly handled back to the cage, which so recently held Arvedui. Considering all of the other options, I am content to be here. The cage bars provide a temporary respite of sorts from the cuffs and jeers of the Haradrim slavers, time which I use to take a better look at Legolas’ hurts.

 

He murmurs slightly as I examine him, but does not truly wake. No wonder, with the goose egg on the right side of his head. There does not seem to be any bleeding or compression of the skull, which is a hopeful sign. His right leg is broken, as well as his right arm. I do my best to set both with wood I picked up from the site where Legolas fell, earning blows from the Haradrim each time I stopped to acquire a likely stick.

 

“Stay strong, dear friend.”  I whisper into Legolas’ delicately pointed ear, “I am not the healer that my father is, but I am well enough, and I think that you will live.”  I think for a moment, and then add, “Gimli is coming for us, and he will expect you to be alive.” Legolas squeezes my hand ever so weakly, but it is still an encouraging sign.

 

I ask the men nearest to our cage for water. When that does not work, I plead. My audience is not receptive, at least not until their leader approaches. His sudden appearance stills my tongue, for I know this man; Haashim, born the lesser son of a minor Bey, a lord of Harad.  Now a merchant and a slave trader, one who does not care who is harmed provided that he makes a profit. One who is, apparently, not above drafting orc for cheap labor and daring to take up camp in a city which has long been the home of our enemies, but which is located within the boundaries of my princedom, and is mine to protect.  If Legolas and I survive, then I have plans for Haashim. But first we must survive.

 

“Great and gentle Lord,” I address him, knowing that he likes to be addressed by such a high title even though he has no claim to one, “Please, I implore you, let me have water and tea to treat my companion. If he lives, he will fetch you a healthy profit.”

 

Haashim’s brown eyes alight with greed, and I know that I’ve taken a step towards keeping us alive for the night. Fortunately, Haashim does not seem to recognize me as the rival merchant, Farid, an identity I have assumed many times over the years. That is for the best, as the last time Haashim and I met, I cheated him out of a very lucrative contract.

 

Now he calls for his men to bring me water. When I ask again for tea, he lashes me with a whip to silence me.

 

“It is not your place to make demands, slave!”

 

I bow my head humbly. I do not think that Haashim would kill us or even maim us just to make a point, but I can’t be sure of that. My goal is to keep us alive and unharmed – well, in Legolas’ case, at least not further harmed.

 

Examining Legolas again, I do the best I can with the water. Oh, how I wish for the many medicines at the House of Healing, or even Aragorn’s cabinet. Actually, I wish that Aragorn – that my father - was here.

 

The man who first held a sword to my throat brings me another skin of water.

 

“Here, mad man,” He says, with weary and even somewhat sympathetic amusement in his eyes. He leaves quickly, perhaps not wanting to attract Haashim’s attention. I do not blame him. I sip from the flask warily. To my surprise it is not water at all, but broth from the goat stew the slaves are cooking on their fire.

 

With some difficulty I coax Legolas to drink most of it. He remains largely unresponsive, but he does wake enough to try and wave the soup away. I do not blame him. It is almost as unpalatable as the last meal served to me by my loving wife.  I tell Legolas that both Aragorn and Gimli would expect him to be a good patient.

 

Having done all I can with what I have, I am left to holding Legolas’ slender body in my arms and worrying. After perhaps an hour, his eyelids flutter open. Legolas looks at me, and truly sees me, and I heave a deep sigh of relief.

 

The first thing that Legolas does is to call me a fool, and scold me for coming back for him.

 

“Oh, as if you wouldn’t have done the same,” I reply with some asperity.

 

His blue eyes narrow. “Fara…” He begins, but I cut him off abruptly, laying a hand over his mouth. Legolas’ expression grows more incensed, at least until he notices how serious I am.

 

“No names,” I tell him firmly. His eyes widen, and then he nods intently. I move my hand, slowly nodding back. Legolas undoubtedly understands the implications of being a prince in enemy hands, probably better even than I do.

 

“Where is Gim…Elvellon?” He asks next, his voice tight with worry, “And the boy, Ardevui?”

 

“Safe, last I saw them,” I can answer honestly, “Gim…Elvellon… is planning to rescue us.” I know not how, exactly. I wish that I had taken the time to tell him of how we rangers who act as spies sometimes buy back our own people when they have been captured, but hopefully he will figure something out.

 

“Oh,” Says Legolas, sighing with deep relief, “That’s all right, then.” His concern hasn’t completely vanished – in fact he is clearly quite worried for his guardian’s safety. But his faith that Gimli will come through for us is absolute. I am surprised – I do not know as I trust anyone that much.

 

Legolas begins to struggle to get up, pushing against the crook of my arm.

 

“No,” I hiss, “Our chances are better if our captors still think you too hurt to move.”

 

The elven prince lays back against me with an audible huff, apparently disinclined to even pretend to weakness.

 

“I need you to listen.” I tell Legolas next.  Continuing to speak in Sindarin so that the Haradrim are unlikely to understand, I give my friend step-by-step instructions for who to trust in Harad. Who can help him escape, where to go in each city if he manages to get loose. Just as important, I give him the names of people – both spies and Haradrim merchants I know to be honest – who will aid him or even buy him and see him sent safely home, and the code words and names to invoke if he meets these people. Some of those I name would come to see him, I know. An elf is a rarity in Harad, and both my men and some others I know would be sure to try and see him freed.

 

Legolas listens patiently, but I can tell that he thinks all of my contingency plans unnecessary.

 

“My dwarven guardian will free us, Fara…gwador. And if he doesn’t, we can escape from here ourselves,” Legolas says confidently, “There should be no need for any of that.”

 

I clench my teeth and wonder if I was so difficult at sixteen. I don’t think so, but my first captain might have. As patiently as I can, I tell Legolas to repeat the instruction I gave him. Then I make him keep at it until he has them word perfect. He is more than out of humor with me by the end.

 

Still, his irritation does not last long. Soon Legolas thanks me endearingly for taking care of him, and then falls back asleep.

 

There comes a moment in the dusk when the slavers are moving about their camp, and one of their spears falls close to the cage. Close enough to grab, and in the confusion we could perhaps manage a decent escape.  I debate for a moment whether to wake Legolas, before realizing that this is the moment I saw in my dream. Our chances of escaping successfully are poor, what with Legolas so injured, and still feeling worse than he will let on. We will have to give Gimli until the morning.

 

Night has fallen in truth. The moon hides behind the clouds, and the orc come to crowd round our cage. The Haradrim had earlier made crude jokes that I truly hope Legolas could not understand, but they had refrained from physically abusing us. The orc either do not understand our value as slaves, or do not care. They poke at us with the blunt ends of spears and long sticks. I do my best to shield Legolas, despite his protests. After a while one of the slavers tells the orc to leave off, and kills one of the smaller ones to make that point clear. The others wander away, disappointed.

 

“This whole experience makes me nostalgic for the LAST cell we were incarcerated in together,” I jest, hoping to lighten the mood.

 

Legolas stifles a laugh. “I am surprised that you remember that at all, mellon-nin,” He teases, “You were so very drunk at the time.”

 

“Not that drunk,” I reply ruefully, “And I will have to commend Captain Edlenngol of the city guard, on the generally high quality of his prison establishment. Oh, they may have forgotten to call for a healer, but they did not actively cudgel us whilst we were in their custody. I never realized how much I would appreciate that difference until just now.”

 

Legolas nodz with a chuckle, before growing serious and a little sad. “At the time, I did not appreciate my dwarven guardian coming to collect me from that the guard station like an errant child. But now I truly wish that he could just waltz in and rescue us, no matter what tariff he would impose upon me for being so careless as to get confined in the first place.”

 

I place my hand on his unharmed arm and squeeze lightly. “Your dwarven friend will not blame you for this, Las.” I assure him, “We all agreed that the plan was the best. ‘Twas I who left you behind to delay pursuit until I could get Arvedui to safety.”

 

He fights very hard to keep back tears. In the end he manages a tight smile. “Well, I shall be glad to see my dwarf again, in any case.”

 

“And… and he you, I am sure,” I reply. “In fact, I had to wrestle with him to convince him that he should not be the one to climb the wall and come after you.”

 

Legolas raises an eyebrow. “How did you win?”

 

“The wall.” I answer obliquely, continuing with, “Lord….Elvellon, has many strengths, but quickly scaling walls is not one of them.”  I hesitate a moment, before confessing, “I owe you and Gi…ah, your guardian, an apology.”

Despite his wounds and slight fever, Legolas’ gaze as he regards me is both steady and kind. “Do not worry, Fara…gwador-nin. I know that you meant well. But you must understand…he would NEVER hurt me. Taking me to task when I go out of bounds, he does that to remind me to take better care of myself, as is his right as my guardian, a right that I AGREE with.

 

“I…missed some of that,”  I admit shamefacedly. “Your excursion to the east the other night was blasted foolish, there’s no other way to put it.”

 

Legolas gives me a narrow look. It is rather an impressive one – I wonder from whom he learned it?

 

“You’re not very good at apologizing, sometimes, did you know that, Fara…my brother’s son?” Legolas asks tartly.

 

I blush for my rudeness, and for the reminder that while Legolas may be only an adolescent amongst his people, he was my own father Aragorn’s oath-brother well before I was born. That Legolas now honors me by addressing as ‘gwador,’ a brother, is something that means a great deal to me, but he is right. My manners were lacking just now, falling far below the standard due to someone who is family.  I hope that my embarrassment is not too visible in the dim light, as I apologize again, “I am sorry. My point was that I can understand why….”

 

“I’m not sure that you do,” Legolas interrupts me, his tone almost as much thoughtful as insulted, “When my dwarf takes me over his knee, much as I hate it – and I do hate it, gwador, make no mistake. But because I love him and trust him and respect him much as I do my own father, and because I accept that I have done wrong and trust him to help me atone for it, a punishment from his hands helps me to rid myself of guilt for my misdeeds. You may not know this, but to an elf, guilt – and grief- are very dangerous. In chastising me justly and kindly, Gimli helps me to overcome my grief and then comforts me, helps me to move past what has happened and know that I still hold his love and regard.”

 

I nod, not sure what to say or how to express my heart-felt gratitude at Legolas explaining all of this to me, even though it is properly none of my business. Legolas’ words just now have relieved the last of my worries over Lord Gimli’s treatment of him, and Gimli’s acceptance of Legolas’ dangerous role in this mission, and the general respect which he has granted to our elven companion in the course of our acquaintance makes it quite clear that the spanking Gimli meted out just recently was not a sign of disrespect. Which had bothered me before – Legolas is a being well worthy of respect, despite his tender relative age, and that respect should not be forfeit just because he occasionally fails to make careful decisions.

 

Legolas studies me intently for a moment.  “I accept your apology.” He says at last.  I thank him humbly, and then search my mind for another compelling topic of conversation. What with the state of his head and his rising fever I would rather that Legolas not fall asleep again just yet.

 

“You know, Fara… my brother,” Legolas spoke again, this time with a hint of mischief as well as sympathy in his eyes, rather as if he was planning to get even with me for prying into his private affairs while at the same time doing me a favor, “I think that you could really benefit from truly ACCEPTING the punishments which your father justly metes out to you.”

 

“But I DO accept them!” I reply, blushing again. I suppose it is fair that Legolas pry in to my personal relationship with my father, since I have done the same to him so recently. But the several times I have been spanked by Aragorn for one reason or another are not something I wish to think about. Bad enough that Legolas knows of at least two of those incidents, and that he – and Gimli and Arwen – have witnessed my father swat me for disobedience to him as my healer or my father. 

 

“No,” Legolas corrects me firmly, “You do not accept your punishments. Oh, you do not fight them either, Fara…gwador.  I do not think that you would. I suppose that you are right in that you accept that you have earned punishment, or at least that Estel has the right to punish you both as your father and…the other. But you do not accept that Estel has the right to correct you, to guide you, to teach you better than to do foolish things.”

 

“Yes, I do,” I object, finding myself almost entirely on the defensive.

 

Legolas laughs lightly, “If you think on it, I am sure that you will find that I am right. In my opinion, you and Estel are long overdue for a talk about how he is the father and your elder, and how you are his young son and still in need his guidance.” Legolas pauses to grin impishly at me, “Or do you not recall jumping off a cliff to fight bandits with me, a stunt for which we were both spanked thoroughly, and rightfully so?”

 

“Yes, I remember,” I say quietly, blushing all the while.

 

Legolas lifts his uninjured hand to squeeze mine. “I apologize, Faramir. I did not mean to take so much amusement in your distress.”

 

Though I am still blushing, I shrug that off. “Fair is fair. I intruded on your privacy first.” 

 

“And I’m not done disrespecting yours.” Legolas tells me, but his tone now is entirely compassionate rather than teasing.

 

 “I think that you have not truly released your guilt for the bridge incident, or for having led us into a bar fight after you got completely sloshed at that party.”

 

“I…I suppose I haven’t,” I answer back, surprised by my honesty.

 

Legolas nods wisely, and then pats my arm. “You should. You should trust Ara…um, your father, when he punishes you, and let him help you to let go your guilt for your mistakes, and comfort you that whatever they were, they are forgivable. And you should believe him when he tells you that he loves you nonetheless.”

 

I can’t speak for a moment, as Legolas’ sensitive and perceptive words have brought me to a better understanding of how I have not been accepting the most important aspects of my father’s punishments, and how I have not truly allowed him to comfort me, or rather have not allowed myself to be soothed and comforted by his kind words and open arms.

 

“You are right.” I tell him hoarsely. “And I did not even give my Adar a proper good bye. With Eowyn and my baby son, I left them secure in my love and regard for them. With Ara…my father, I…I was so annoyed by his ridiculous guards, I did not do more than swear to do my duty as his vassal with these most recent patrols when we parted.”

 

I turn to look at Legolas, confessing painfully that, “He has been so very kind to me. He tells me that he loves me even when my actions have rendered me unworthy, and shows his love for me in so many small ways. Meanwhile I still have trouble calling him father, and I have only once told him that I loved him.”

 

Legolas reaches out to squeeze my hand again. “He knows, Faramir, I’m sure that he knows. And we won’t die here, so…”

 

“We will not die here,” I interrupt to agree, “So I will just have to do better, when I see him next.” I take a deep breath, “Which I will almost certainly have a chance to do almost immediately, since he was quite clear about what consequences I would face with him were I defy his will by venturing into this city.”

 

Legolas grins with rueful sympathy. He moves the conversation onto a lighter topic. I am grateful, save that it does not hold his interest as well and he soon drifts off to sleep. He is difficult to wake, and his fever still rises. I had thought that Legolas, with his strong constitution, had cheated the effects of the Fell-beast’s venom. It terrifies me to think that perhaps I was wrong.

 

I earn another lash of Haashim’s whip by begging for more water. I will not let them have peace and they are too lazy to wake in the night to deal with me properly, so the same man who brought me the soup brings me two more skins.

 

One is filled with water and the other with soup, which the man – Mubin- tells me is broth made from the bones of a goat, which survived the venom of the Fell-Beast’s bite. It is one of the best methods for treating such an injury,  and I thank him sincerely. I wish that I could do more to return the favor, but I dare not do or say much for fear of letting on that Legolas and I are more than we seem, more than just two crazy soldiers who risked their lives to save a Gondorian shepherd boy.

 

I do tell Mubin that word amongst the merchants of Gondor is that several of the other beys – the lords of Harad- are hiring warriors to guard their caravans. A man who is fearless enough to wrangle a hell-beast and clever enough to make of its victims a cure would be likely to find work amongst such folk. It is by no means the equal of the favor he has done us, but it is the best I feel that I can do.

 

Legolas’s fever does go down during the night. He is still somewhat feverish and weak and hard to wake, still not really aware of his surroundings.  However he is improved enough that, if I could get him to a place with decent healing supplies and no tormentors, I feel that he would recover quite well.  But there is no surety that I will be able to do so. I spend the rest of the night worrying over my companion, wracked by fear for him and guilt that it was on my land and my watch that my heroic young friend was so cruelly wounded and imprisoned. I hope that Lord Gimli may effect our rescue, but I am afraid that he will fail.

 

Gimli comes for us in the morning, and for all he is himself I scarcely recognize him. With grateful incredulity I realize that he has so far led Haashim and the other slavers to believe that he is a dwarven slave trader –whoever knew that there was any such thing?  I almost give myself away for a moment in my joy and relief, but I quickly get myself under control.  I look away, and act the part of the slave. I desperately hope that Lord Gimli can carry out this act and rescue us, even after he sees his dear Legolas in such desperate straits. 

 


	8. Legolas' point of view

 

**[Legolas POV part, Minas Ithil]**

I come back to consciousness with a start, my breath coming in short bursts and I am swiftly reminded of how and why I am in this situation, for the blood curdling cry of the fell beast rings out nearby.  The fight with the beast comes back with full clarity the claws reaching for me, my stepping back into oblivion and then what?

 

I need to know how I survived when I should not have done so.

My right arm and leg definitely broken, which is not good, but as an elf my bones knit swiftly and within a few days they will be as good as new. Of course since I am still within the environs of Minas Ithil I realize I may not have a ‘few’ days. I am surprised and concerned that I am still alive, for I know all too well what the Haradrim and the Orc do to those in their power. I barely repress a shudder, at the thought of what may be ahead for me. I need to begin to plan an escape as soon as I can.

 

For now I try to assess any other injuries that may cause me difficulties and realize that there is something more than broken limbs to contend with, my heart is thumping, my head aching and I am in danger of being sick, I have been poisoned it seems.

 

I am unable to bite off the groan at this piece of news and then a voice I recognize speaks soothingly to me and I know that I am not alone.

 

“Stay strong, dear friend.” 

 

Faramir. What is he doing here? I saw him go over the wall with the boy; he was only feet from the ground!  Surely he made it to freedom.

Whatever has happened my head throbs to such an extent that I have not the strength to answer or ask how he comes to be here. All I can do is squeeze his hand in response to his words, and take some comfort in his telling me that I will live and that Gimli is free and will be coming for me.

 

I want desperately to speak but lose the battle with consciousness and my mind fades into darkness and dreams of all the stories I have heard of the fate of elves caught by the Easterlings, sold into slavery or worse. As for the elven prisoners of Orc, well I have freed more than one warrior out of his torment at the hands of these evil spawn by the use of my bow. I hope that there is someone there to do the same service for me.

 

I wake for a second time and Faramir is still with me, and this time my mind is clearer and my anger stronger. Why is he here?

 

But my questions must wait for somehow Faramir has found water and is doing his best to clean my wounds. It is painful but I try not to flinch for I know that my best chance at recovery and escape will only come if I do not succumb to fever.

 

Then a water skin is held to my mouth and I am being urged to swallow.  Whatever is in the skin smells and tastes disgusting but Faramir is insistent and keeps telling me that I need to be a ‘good patient’. Obviously he has never spoken to the healers in my father’s stronghold or Lord Elrond in Imladris because while I have been described as many thing a ‘good patient’ has never been one of them. I do my best to wave him away but he will brook no argument.  He is more like his Adar than he knows!  I am forced to swallow some of the broth before I once again fall into sleep.

 

I am unsure how long I sleep but I wake to find myself being held in Faramir’s arms and this time manage to put at least a few coherent if rather pungent phrases together to indicate my feelings on his being captured alongside me.

He is unimpressed, merely muttering “as if you wouldn’t have done the same.”

When I try to answer this I find a hand placed over my mouth and I struggle to speak until Faramir hisses ‘no names’.

 

How could I have been so careless as to put us both in even greater danger by giving out our names? I am ashamed by my lack of discretion. When Faramir frowns I nod my understanding and when the hand is removed I ask for news on Gimli and the boy.

 

It is a relief to hear that they at least are free, and that Gimli is intending to rescue us. I mumble **“** Oh. That’s all right, then,”and attempt to sit up but Faramir says we will do better if our captors do not know I am recovering.  I fall back into his arms with a sigh more tired and sick than I should be in my opinion at least.

 

I really want to sleep but Faramir shakes my good arm gently telling me I must listen and concentrate on what he is telling me.

 

He tells me of people in Harad I can trust or will aid me and for a little time I cannot understand why he is insisting on my listening and remembering all of what he says. Finally I realize that he believes I may find myself in Harad as a slave and that these people he is mentioning may help me escape. He is in full earnest but I have faith in my dwarf and do my best to reassure him in turn by assuring him that either Gimli will free us or we will manage to escape ourselves.

 

Faramir seems unconvinced by my argument and with my headache growing worse I deem it better to humor him by repeating his instructions until he feels I have them sufficiently lodged in my brain as to not forget them. I feel growing irritation with my friend but cannot fault his kindness in thinking of me and so just before I slip back into what I hope will be a healing sleep I thank him for his care.  The last thing I see is Faramir rolling his eyes in exasperation at me.  Anyone would think I was being unreasonable!

Waking is not pleasurable.  My leg and arm ache abominably and the pain is not helped by the fact that the Orc have come out ‘to play’ and are intent on jabbing at us with their scimitars and pikes. Faramir does his best to protect me but even so I am collecting quite a selection of cuts and bruises to add to my wounds, and worse than the physical pain is the horrific comments and gestures that accompany the hideous chattering and coarse laughter.

 

I wonder if Faramir understands what they are threatening. I hope not, for it is of the most bestial nature and completely unnatural. I am not sure how I will manage it but I vow to myself that somehow I will ensure that neither Faramir nor I find ourselves at the mercy of these foul creatures. Sooner would I take my own life, aye and Faramir’s also. It is a relief when one of the Haradrim slavers gets tired of the noise and kills one of the Orc who dares to question his demand to be quiet.

“This whole experience makes me nostalgic for the LAST cell we were incarcerated in together,” Faramir tells me in an attempt to lighten the mood.

 

I stifle a laugh not wishing to bring unwanted attention upon us again, but cannot resist in responding with a grin. “I am surprised that you remember that at all, mellon-nin. You were so very drunk at the time.”

 

“Not that drunk,” He insists adding how he had not fully appreciated the high quality of our billet until now.

 

His words put me in mind of how we escaped the situation by the arrival of my dwarf.  How I wish he was here now. I would welcome his scowl and his growling demand to know what was I thinking if only I could see him one more time.

 

Faramir seems to understand my real concern for he reassures me that Gimli will not blame me for what has happened. I believe him and would not care if my hirsute guardian felt it incumbent upon him to tan my hide so hard that it turned to leather. I just want his presence, his strength his love to help me endure.

 

Still I am interested in what Faramir tells me about how the plan was agreed between us all and have to smile when he says that he had to all but wrestle with Gimli to get him to agree that he, Faramir should be the one to scale the wall in search of me.

 

“How did you win?” I ask

 

“The wall,” He answers, and this time I actually laugh, knowing that Gimli would be vastly infuriated by the fact that he knew he could not climb as easily or as quickly as Faramir.

 

But when Faramir tries to offer me an apology for his misunderstanding the true depth of the relationship between Gimli and me, I lose all desire to smile.

 

I assure him that Gimli would never ‘hurt’ me, and that while I know he meant well his concern was misguided. I can see why he felt as he did, for he has not had the same upbringing and sure knowledge of love and care that I was fortunate to have.

 

I cannot begin to understand how any parent, or parental figure could be so heartless to their child. It is little wonder that Faramir had concerns over Gimli’s care of me aye or even of Aragorn’s care of him. While we have this quiet time together I think I must try and get him to understand exactly how comforting and reassuring such a relationship can be.

 

It may be if worse comes to worst that we will never get to see our beloved guardians again.  My breathe catches in my throat at that thought.  If that is the case it is even more important that Faramir knows how much he is loved and how he could benefit from acceptance of the care Aragorn has offered him.

 

“If he takes me to task, it is because he cares and to remind me to take better care of myself,” I have to smile for I cannot really believe that I am actually giving voice to a belief which I would not usually speak of: my acceptance-perhaps even more than that- my _need_ to have boundaries set and rules enforced as I am doing now, but our circumstances are not usual so I carry on.

 

“Gimli is my guardian by my choice,” Not that I really had much choice when it was first mooted by Aragorn but now is not the time to mention that.

 

“And as my guardian, he has a right to deal with me as he feels fit, a right that I AGREE with.”

 

 “I…missed some of that,”  Faramir admits, “even so, your excursion to the east the other night was blasted foolish, there’s no other way to put it.”

 

Well really! I give him a look that I have perfected from watching my father in his court.

 

“You’re not very good at apologizing, sometimes; did you know that, Fara…my brother’s son?” I snap.

 

 He apologizes again telling me now that he understands why I accept this discipline but I feel the need to make my own point as well in the hope that it will help him accept Aragorn’s care more easily.

 

“When Gimli takes me over his knee, much as I hate it – and I do hate it, gwador, make no mistake. But because I love him and trust him and respect him much as I do my own father, and because I accept that I have done wrong and trust him to help me atone for it, a punishment from his hands helps me to rid myself of guilt for my misdeeds. You may not know this, but to an elf, guilt – and grief- are very dangerous. In chastising me justly and kindly, Gimli helps me to overcome my grief and then comforts me, helps me to move past what has happened and know that I still hold his love and regard.”

I wait anxiously to see if Faramir will accept and understand what I am trying to tell him and I am relieved when he nods and offers yet another apology for his misunderstanding and I feel sufficiently emboldened to try a little humor.

 

“You know, Fara… my brother,” I amend when he frowns, “I think that you could really benefit from truly ACCEPTING the punishments which your father justly metes out to you.”

 

“But I DO accept them!” he cries, but I know too well that there is a difference between not fighting a punishment and accepting the need of it.

“No. you do not accept your punishments. Oh, you do not fight them either, Fara…gwador. But you do not accept that Estel has the right to correct you, to guide you, to teach you better than to do foolish things.”

 

“Yes, I do,” He argues making me laugh and giving me the opportunity to point out that Estel is not only his elder, his father but also his lord but when I remind him of what happened to us both after our jump off the cliff I see that I have embarrassed him for even in the poor light I can see he is blushing.  It is my turn to apologize but he tells me ‘fair is fair’ and that he was the one who intruded on my privacy first which is true enough but I am not above making use of that to get over the points I am trying to make to him.

 

Guilt is an emotion that can have a devastating effect on elven kind, and I suspect that Faramir’s upbringing has also bred in him a tendency to hold onto guilt, even if it is unwarranted.

 

And there is the fact that Faramir has some elven blood in him from his mother’s family. When I met Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth I could sense his elven ancestry although the generations may be long by mortal standards from the union of Imrazôr the Númenórean and Mithrellas to an elf twenty one generations is not a long time, so that there is a distinct possibility that Faramir has some elven blood in him which might account for his susceptibility to and difficulty with guilt.

 

I wonder then if Gimli might have some Elvish ancestry and the thought is so funny that I begin to be concerned about the effect the poison I have in my blood is having.

 

I am beginning to feel quite unwell but am determined that I will finish this conversation with my friend now; it may be too late tomorrow. I try to focus more fully and glance up into the night sky above our heads.  This must have been a beautiful place once and even with the evil that lurks here now there is a feel about it that makes me wish I could see it restored to its former glory. Blinking and swallowing on the bile that rises in my throat I strain to see beyond the clouds and am rewarded by a glimpse of my beloved stars. I wonder if Gimli is watching them.  He pretends not to bother but I know he has come to love them as I do. Perhaps there is some Elvish in him somewhere after all.

 

I offer a silent prayer that he is safe and well and remains so but my silence makes Faramir anxious so I look back at him and offer a somewhat shaky smile but then continue.

 

 “I think that you have not truly released your guilt, gwador-nin,” and he answers with a pleasing honesty that he hasn’t.

 

“You should. You should believe Estel when he tells you that he loves you whatever foolish thing you may have done. He will always forgive you, that is what a father does.”

 

I had hoped to reassure him but I can see that he is upset and for a moment I am worried I have made things worse; then he admits that he wishes he had not left Aragorn without telling him he loved him. That at least I can put right. “He knows, Faramir, I’m sure that he knows. And we won’t die here, so…”

 

“We will not die here,” He repeats making it sound like a vow before adding that he will no doubt have to face up to him over his venturing into the city, if we do survive. I believe Aragorn will see that his son had little real choice in what he did. It is more likely to be me that faces the wrath of Gimli and presently I do not care as long as I see him again and we are all safe.

Perhaps it is my growing fever but I feel tears start in my eyes at the thought of my beloved dwarf.  I close my eyes and let go of my tenuous grip on consciousness once more.

 

The rest of the night is a blur I know Faramir urges me to drink something but beyond that nothing. I wish I did not have to leave my friend to face what is coming alone but the poison has its grip upon me and draws me back from wakefulness into a void of black dreams.

 


	9. Gimli's Point of View

**[Gimli POV, Dealing to buy Faramir and Legolas]**

Thankfully, Haashim does not seem to notice Faramir’s quickly hidden reaction.

 

“As you can see this one is young and strong,” Haashim tells me, “Calloused hands prove that he is used to hard work, and his hair is an unusual color, something that is highly prized in the south.  He would bring a fair profit in Far Harad or Umbar.”

 

I snort as if in disbelief. 

 

“Perhaps, but ye’ll have the expense of feeding him until the next trip south.  I could save ye a lot of trouble by taking him off your hands today if the price is right and ye’d have your payment inside an hour.”

 

He looks tempted, but says only, “ _If_ the price is right.  I know his value.”

 

“Let me look him over,” I demand.  “I canna make an offer until I have a look.”

 

Haashim pulls a set of irons out of a deep pocket and fastens one end around Faramir’s wrist and the other around the bars of the cage before opening the cell to let me enter.  He steps over Legolas and I do the same, making a show of inspecting Faramir.  I run a hand down both arms and then both legs as if checking for strength and muscle tone while Faramir glares and pretends to struggle.  I shove him hard against the bars.

 

“Be still, boy, if ye know what’s good for ye!”  I hiss and then turn him roughly around so I can feel his shoulders and run a hand down his spine. 

 

“Any injuries or hidden sores?”  I ask, causing Haashim to act highly offended.

 

 “Of course not!”

 

“Open his mouth,” I demand, and the merchant grabs Faramir by the hair and pulls his head back and his chin down at the same time, while forcing Farmir to his knees.  I have a good look at his teeth, and grunt as if I am not completely satisfied.  He will expect to have to barter the price and it will not do to appear too eager and give away our game. 

 

“As you can see, he is young and healthy,” Haashim begins.  “Top quality.”

 

“He is well enough,” I agree, “but too wild.  I dinna have time to fight him all the way home.”

 

Here Faramir speaks up.

 

“I will go quietly if you will purchase my friend as well and let me care for him.”

 

“Silence, slave!”  Haashim hisses, raising a hand threateningly. “It is not your place to bargain.”

 

But Faramir carries on. 

 

“He may not live,” he admits, “but if he does, he will be of great value to you and I will carry him for you.  He will not be any burden to you at all.”

 

“I said SHUT UP!”  The slave merchant shouts, casually backhanding Faramir across the face causing the lad to cry out and his nose to  begins to bleed.  I grab Haashim and pull him off of Faramir before he can hit him a second time.

 

“Keep your hands off him!”   I growl and the man looks at me in stunned amazement and Faramir looks worried too.   I have to think fast to cover my actions.  “If I am to buy him, I dinna need him knocked senseless do I?  Ye’re damaging my potential property.”

 

Haashim nods as I pull out the coin purse and open it for him to see.

 

“It is a fair price for an untrained slave,” I say, but Haashim only laughs at my offer.

 

“For a male of his age and condition I could get triple that amount on the block,” He claims.

 

I narrow my eyes as if thinking this over. 

 

“Perhaps so,” I agree.  “But I’ll be saving ye the trouble of having to train him yourself and have him out of your hair in minutes.”

 

But Haashim only shakes his head.  I sigh and reach into my pocket to pull out the cloak pin I have placed there earlier.  Haashim raises an eyebrow and picks it up, holding it up to the light for a better look.  It is exquisitely crafted, and I can see he is interested.

 

“It is dwarven made,” I inform him.  “The finest quality.  And there is more where that came from if we can make a deal today.”

 

I can see he is wavering, but he shakes his head again.

 

“Ye drive a hard bargain, Master Merchant, but I’ll tell ye what I’ll do since I am in a such a good mood and time is of the essence.”  This time I hand over the mithril-handled dagger.  “He is not worth that, but I need to close this deal.  Ye’d better take it before I change my mind.”

 

This time the man smiles and nods. 

 

“You’ll be wanting leg irons and a collar,” he says.

 

“Master dwarf, my friend too.” Faramir begs.  “I will make it worthwhile for you I swear.”

 

Haashim glares at him and moves toward him ominously and Faramir cringes away.  I pretend to notice Legolas for the first time.

 

“What is wrong with that one?” I ask.

 

“The elf is dying,” Haashim explains, with a dark laugh.  “He is destined to be pet food soon.”  He inclines his head toward the fell beast and the beast hisses as if in response. “It is a shame really.  Elves are not easy to capture and this one has such bright hair.  He would have brought a handsome sum.”

 

The words make bile rise in my throat, but I laugh as if there is something funny about this situation and pretend to consider it.    

“A dwarf in possession of an elven slave would be a good story to tell.  Perhaps I will take him off your hands after all.”  I hold out the few coins I have left on me hoping he will accept them without much thought.  I have nothing left to bargain with after this.

 

 Haashim eyes me suspiciously.  “He is not likely to survive the night and I don’t want you or your kin spreading the word that you’ve been cheated.  What would you do with it?  It’s useless for anything other than beast fodder.  It wouldn’t be worth the trouble for me for what you offer anyway.”  He sneers at the scant few coins in my hand.

 

I feel my stomach drop to the ground.  I have to find a way to close this deal without blowing our cover and my resources are running dangerously low. But then suddenly I remember soemthing!  I get down on my knees and pretend to look Legolas over.  Just as I did with Faramir I run hands over his limbs.  To my surprise he begins to fidget and writhe.  He fights weakly when I slide a hand inside his tunic and feel around for what I hope is still there.  I am shocked at the heat I feel when I touch his skin, but I almost cheer when I find what I am looking for.  A gold chain with a small pendant in the shape of a pair of oak leaves on it.  It was a gift I made for him myself and presented to him on his first visit to Aglarond-a symbol to all that he is considered dwarf kin and should be welcomed in my home by all who reside there.  I give it a firm yank and palm it quickly.  To my surprise Legolas struggles and cries out and reaches up as if to stop me from taking it. 

 

I speak to him sharply in Khuzdul, knowing Haashim will not understand.

 

“Settle down, child, I am trying to help you.”

 

I keep my voice low and stern, hoping that even if Legolas does not understand my Khuzdul words, he will at least recognize my voice and my tone.

 

He surprises me again by opening his eyes and I can see the moment when he recognizes me.  Relief floods his features and he rasps out, “Elvellon!”

 

My heart leaps in my chest again for fear that the slave merchant will catch on.  Before he can do so I jump to my feet again and demand an explanation from Faramir.

 

“What is he saying?”  I ask angrily. “I will buy him just to kill him myself if he is offering me insult!  I willna’ tolerate such from an elf!”

 

“Not an insult, Master Dwarf,” Faramir hurries to explain.  “It is just fever dreams.  He was calling for his father.”

 

I nod and let myself be placated, and then turn back to Haashim.

 

“He is a pretty thing,” I tell him. “He can offer me an evening or two of entertainment before he expires and if not, his hair will make a fine souvenir to show the wife!”  I open my hand to show the man the oak leaf necklace.  “My final offer.  Take it or leave it.”

 

I offer a quick prayer that he will take it and breathe a sigh of relief when he takes the necklace from my hand. 

 

“I will get the fetters then.”  He starts to turn away to do so.

 

“No need for that,” I tell him.  “I need him free to carry the other one and we need to move quickly.  Just a rope tied around his waist will do.”  I turn to glare at Faramir and pat my axe meaningfully “If he causes me trouble, I will just kill the elf.”

 

“As you wish,” Haashim agrees, and then we quickly make the exchange.  I hand over my valuables and take the heavy rope from him.  I make a show of tying it around Faramir’s waist and checking the knots to make sure they are secure.  I keep a firm hold on one end of the rope, giving it a rough tug.

 

“Ye will carry that one,” I order him, “but if ye canna keep up with me, we leave him behind.”

 

Faramir hurries to lift Legolas as gently as possible and amazingly we are lead out of the courtyard and back into the streets, free to go on our way.  It is tempting to run for it as soon as we are in the street, but we are careful to keep to our pretense until we reach the relative safety of the damaged bridge.  There I call a halt so that I can use my axe to carefully cut Faramir free from the rope around his middle.  Afterwards I insist on carrying my elfling.

 

“I can carry him, Gimli,” Faramir objects, in spite of the fact that he is walking stiffly and is in obvious discomfort.

 

“As can I, laddie,” I tell him firmly while transferring my elf into my own arms.  “Ye are clearly in need of a break and besides that, ye need to get us out of here.  Lead on!”

 

But first I show him where to find the bow I’ve hidden in the rubble.  He digs it out quickly and we move on at the fastest pace possible under the circumstances.  Legolas moans softly as I shift his weight in my arms, but when I whisper soft reassurances in his ear, he seems to relax against me.

 

It is only a short while before we are out of the city and it is just past mid day when Faramir stops in what looks like the middle of the hidden trail we are following. 

 

“We can camp here,” he tells me. 

 

I look around and wonder if he has taken leave of his senses.  All I can see are trees so thick there is hardly room to spread a bedroll between them.  But before I can voice this concern, Faramir is rubbing his hand along the side of a small mound with a sapling on top of it, and then he is lifting a section of earth up from what looks like ordinary ground.  To my amazement there is a hidden natural cavern below,  that has been dug out even further so that it makes a large room below the earth.  I follow him into this dark place and he lights an oil lantern of all things.  The light shows the cavern to be a fair sized outpost complete with shelves and trunks full of supplies. 

 

“This is amazing, Faramir, like a miracle from the Valar.”  I tell him. 

 

Faramir smiles sheepishly at this praise, but is quick to demur.

 

“Not a miracle at all, but an emergency outpost maintained by our rangers.”

 

“Well it is just the thing, lad.  We will be right comfortable here for as long as we need.”

 

“There is food and healing supplies as well,” he tells me, looking through one of the trunks and pulling out some blankets to spread on the low cot that is in the middle of the room.  “And we can have a fire.” 

 

He finds kindling and dry firewood already in the fire pit and finds a flint on a shelf to light it.

 

 “It is vented out near a hot springs so that the smoke is hidden in the steam,” He explains and begins gathering healing supplies, including both cold and hot water that has been routed from nearby springs.  

 

It is amazing to have such a sanctuary so close to the dark city, but for now I turn my attention to my elfling who by now is clearly in distress from our long journey.  I hurry to make him more comfortable.  I place a hand on his forehead and frown at the unnatural heat there. 

 

“He was clawed by the fell beast,” Faramir tell me.  “The talons were likely poisoned.  I will see if I can make a poultice to draw it out.”

 

While Faramir adds comfrey and mustard to a pot of water that he has boiling on the fire, I gently undress my elf using warm water to release the fabric where it is stuck to his wounds.  I am careful not to disturb the splinted limbs as I cleanse and anoint his battered body with hyssop salve and hemp oil.  I keep up a monologue of soft encouraging words as I work.

 

“I’m going to lift your arm just a bit lamb, so I can bandage these hurts and then I will see if I can find something that will ease the pain.  After that ye can rest for as long as ye wish. I will watch over your sleep, child, I promise.  There is nothing to fear now.”

 

I cover him with a thin blanket and brush the hair back from his face as he watches me with great fever bright eyes.  I can see that he is troubled and not just from the considerable pain he must be in.

 

“What is amiss, lamb? What is bothering you?”

 

“The boy…” he croaks out, making me frown with concern.  I wonder if he is becoming delirious from the fever.

 

“What boy, laddie?”

 

“Goatherd…”

 

Of course! Why didn’t I think of it earlier? Of course the lad wants to know what happened to the child he rescued.

 

“Avendui was safely returned to the rangers,” I assure him.  “He will be with his family by now.  Ye’ve done a beautiful job at rescuing him, lamb.  No doubt ye saved his life.”

 

He smiles slightly and closes his eyes, but only until Faramir arrives with a towel soaked in the comfrey and mustard solution that is heated to as hot as can be safely used. 

 

“This will feel too warm, Legolas,” he warns, “but it will help remove the toxins from your body.”

 

Legolas cringes and sucks in his breath as the hot poultice is laid against his wounds, but he quickly settles down again, no doubt too weak for anything else.  I then mix up a pain draught and help him to sit up enough to swallow it.  After that there isn’t much left to do for him, other than keep him as comfortable as possible and that includes his emotional state as well as physical, both of which are great concerns to me for both can be equally damaging to an elf.    I worry that a whole night being held captivity in such an evil place will have had a weakening effect on him.  It must have been a terrifying ordeal, something I might have made worse by my act as a slave buyer.  I know it had to be done, but that does not make me any less concerned for the damage I might have inflicted on him in the process.  Grief and worry can be just as dangerous to an elf as a physical wound, so I know I have to make sure he now realizes we are all now safe from any immediate danger so that he can rest peacefully and focus on healing rather than fretting. 

 

I lean in to kiss his too warm brow and remind him again that between him and Faramir, the goatherd’s son has been returned safely home.  When he hears Faramir’s name, his eyes pop open again and I can see them moving from side to side as he tries to sit up.  A gentle hand on his shoulder prevents that, but I am quick to reassure him.

 

“We’re safe in the ranger’s outpost, Lamb, and Faramir is here with us.  Remember he brought us here?”

 

That may have been the wrong thing to say, for he looks alarmed that he does not recall the journey here, so again I hurry to set his mind at rest.

 

“It doesna’ matter lad.  The important thing is that we are all safe. Ye only need to rest for now and I’ll watch over ye.  There is nothing at all to worry about.”

 

I take his hand so he can constantly feel my presence and then hum softly so he can hear my voice and feel safe.   Between that and the pain draught he is soon asleep and hopefully resting peacefully. 


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

**Legolas POV**

My dreams in the cage are dark indeed: the hiss of the Fell Beast, the howls of the Orc fill my ears then as if to justify my thoughts hands slide down my limbs and then slip inside my tunic. I thrash about weakly but am unable to stop the violation even though I try to by raising my hand.

 

A voice speaks to me in Khuzdul telling me to settle down and my relief is such that my eyes open and I cannot prevent myself from responding with “elvellon.” As I see Gimli kneeling beside me.

 

“Quiet laddie” he adds placing a warning hand on my shoulder before turning back to where one of the Haradrim is standing. I do not understand what is happening. Why is Gimli speaking with the slave trader, bargaining with him? But then the pieces slip into place He is buying mine and Faramir’s freedom, and while I want to do something to help, I realize the best thing to do is to wait quietly and anyway in my present state of weakness I would be more of a hindrance than a help in the rescue.

 

There is a flurry of activity and then Faramir eases me into his arms and we are moving. I hate being so weak and helpless but there is nothing to do save endure it and my rather tenuous grip on consciousness is slipping again. I can only hope that the next time I wake we will be free.

 

And it seems for once that my hopes have been justified. I awake to warmth and semi-darkness. I am no longer in the cage but in a small cave. I turn my head and see Gimli and Faramir searching through a tin trunk.  They both look well enough and I feel great relief that they are so relaxed that neither is having to keep on guard. Wherever we are, we are safe indeed.

 

Gimli must sense I have wakened again for he comes over to me laying a hand on my forehead and brushing back my hair. He tells me that he is going to get me out of my filthy clothing and wishes to clean my wounds and I try not to fidget and fuss as he goes about his business. As he covers me with a blanket I admit to feeling a deal better for his ministrations.

 

I hold onto his promise that he will watch over me while I sleep like a talisman. Only one other being has ever inspired in me so much trust and belief and that is my Adar yet something is at the back of my mind causing me concern, and finally I realize what it is as Gimli asks me what is amiss.

 

“The boy…”

 

“What boy, laddie?”

 

“Goatherd…”

 

“Avendui was safely returned to the rangers,” Gimli assures me, “Ye’ve done a beautiful job at rescuing him, lamb.  No doubt ye saved his life.”

 

“I did not do it alone,” I croak before closing my eyes again, but they open of their own volition as the smell of mustard and comfrey assails my nostrils.  I know what this portends and do not look forward to the process at all, but know also that it will help to ease the effects of the poison so do my best to endure the heat as best I can.

 

Gimli offers me some pain relief and helps me swallow it and I welcome its numbing effects and my dwarf’s reassurances that we are safe.

 

“Is Faramir well?” I manage when Gimli mentions his name. I know my friend took quite a bit of punishment from the Orc and the Haradrim slaver and since he is a great deal like me he has likely not mentioned any of his injuries to Gimli.

**“** We’re safe in the ranger’s outpost, Lamb, and Faramir is here with us.  Remember he brought us here?”

 

“I do not remember,” I stutter concerned that my memory of the journey is so shaky.

 

Gimli immediately tells me it doesn’t matter and he is no doubt right.  He normally is.  He takes hold of my hands and begins to hum softly and I relax and drift off into sleep.

 

**[Gimli POV, after getting Legolas to sleep peacefully]**

 

 

It is a blessed relief to watch Legolas sleep peacefully, after spending all of last night fearing that I might never see him again. After a while I feel eyes on me and when I look up, I see Faramir watching us closely.  He flushes and turns away, but not before I see the longing expression on his face.  I feel a stab of guilt, for in all this time, I haven’t even considered that Faramir has also been through a terrible ordeal and even though he is not as bad off as Legolas, he very well might be injured as well.

 

He has managed to wash the blood from his face, but I notice that his right eye is swollen and the whole right side of his face is covered with scrapes.  I squeeze my elf’s hand and move away to sit next to Faramir, where I lift his chin to get a better look.

 

“Let me put some salve on those cuts, laddie.  Ye look like something the cat dragged in.”

 

He smiles slightly but turns his head away. 

 

“It is not necessary, Gimli,” he tells me. “I’ve cleaned them already and it isn’t that bad.”

 

“Bad enough,” I insist, opening the jar of salve.  He tolerates my ministrations well enough, though I have the feeling he would like to roll his eyes.  It is then that I recall how stiffly he was moving earlier.

 

“Is there anything else I should know about Faramir?”  I ask him.  “If so, ye must let me tend to ye.”

 

“Nothing worth mentioning,” he tells me, getting up to stand nearer the fire.  This time I am the one who wants to roll my eyes. Why does this feel familiar?

 

“Hmmph, well mention it anyway, youngling,” I demand.  “I’ll decide if it was worth mentioning or not.”

 

He smiles again, but again attempts to demur. 

 

“I am well enough.”

 

I narrow my eyes at this statement and glare in his direction.  He stares back with equal determination, but finally he can’t help squirming a bit and looking away.  Still he continues to insist that nothing is wrong, though anyone with eyes can see that there is.  It is rather ridiculous!    Finally a growl of frustration emanates from my throat.

 

“I paid good money for your sorry hide, boy, so ye are meant to do as I say!”  I remind him.  “Now get _over_ here so I can see if ye are injured, or I’ll sell ye to the next passing band of orc we meet!”

 

He laughs out loud at my antics, but I can see he is reluctant to comply.  Still he sighs and turns his back to me and begins unbuttoning his shirt. He lets the shirt slip below his shoulders and I can’t help a sharp intake of breath when I see the state of his back and arms.  Dark bruises cover both arms and the ribs on his left side and there is a distinct weal mark across his shoulders where he has clearly been struck with a whip or chain.

 

“This is much more serious than ye are letting on, Faramir lad,” I gently scold. “These wounds need cleaning and treating and then ye need a nice long rest so ye can begin to heal.  Ye can’t have slept at all last night in that dreadful cell.”

 

He only shrugs.

 

  “I’ve been through worse,” he tells me, as if that will make me feel better!

 

“That may be, but that doesn’t change the fact that ye need care now,” I point out.  “And there is no reason not to let me help ye.  We have healing supplies, and I am here to watch over ye while ye sleep, so why not take advantage of that?”

 

He continues to stare at me as if not quite sure how to respond, so I briskly make a bedroll not too far from the cot where Legolas is sleeping and then beckon him over.

 

“Come and lie down, laddie, and let’s have this done.”

 

He nods but does not make a move to do so until I give him a little shove in the right direction.  After that does lie down on the pallet, but stiffens as soon as I touch him with the cool cloth.  I keep up a steady stream of light chatter as I carefully wipe away dried blood and grime, and he finally begins to relax under my touch, no doubt thanks to the pain relieving properties in the salve.

 

 As I continue applying salve to his many cuts and bruises, I notice that some of the weal marks are not fresh ones, but are long healed scars.  On closer inspection I see that these marks cover his back and disappear into the waistband of his trousers.  A lump forms in my throat, when I think about what might have caused so many scars on someone of so few years.  No wonder the poor boy is so guarded when it comes to his newly discovered father.  Anyone who has been so ill-treated would no doubt be the same.  I do not mention any of this, however, but just continue with the task before me.  After I have finished I gently pat his undamaged shoulder and keep it there before he can try to rise.

 

“All done, Lad.  Now why don’t ye try to sleep for a spell?  It will do ye good.”

 

I feel him tense under my hand again.

 

“But Legolas…” he begins to object.

 

“I will wake ye if anything changes,” I promise.

 

“And you must be tired yourself.”

 

“I am a bit, but I am not injured.  I will let ye know if I need to rest.”

 

“But…”

 

“No buts, laddie.  Can ye not just do as ye are bid?  I swear ye are worse than yon elfling with your excuses!”

 

He laughs, though a bit ruefully.

 

“Thank you, Gimli.” He says, finally giving up the fight.

 

“Ye have nothing to thank me for Faramir,” I tell him, as I brush some stray hair out of his face.  “’Tis I should be thanking you.  Ye saved my lad’s life back there, laddie.  I could never repay ye for that if I live for a thousand years.”

 

And I mean every word. 


	11. Faramir's Point of view

**[Faramir POV]**

 

 

"Repay me?" I ask, bewildered and upset, "Lord Gimli, it is I who endangered Legolas in the first place."  

 

Gimli regards me as if I am a conundrum. "How do ye figure that, Faramir? Ye went back for my lad. Ye bound his wounds, and kept the both of ye alive until morning..." 

 

I shake my head, protesting, "Legolas would not have been in danger in the first place if it were not for his coming to aid one of my people."  I laugh unevenly, surprised myself at how unsteady I feel, before adding, "After this I doubt that you will still wish your ward to spend time with me at all. I have led him to dive into shallow water in pursuit of bandits, left him to his own devices in a drunken brawl, and now led him near to his death at the claws of a fell beast and the dubious mercy of the Southron." 

 

Muttering something under his breath, Gimli fixes me with a very firm look. "Ye're talking nonsense." He scolds, "If ye were not covered in bruises, I would shake ye, hoping to rattle free some sense. THIS was in no way your fault, Faramir. We all agreed upon the plan - 'twas the best that could be done under poor circumstances."  Gimli's dark eyes soften, and his deep voice rumbles, "As for the rest...Aye, I will admit that your judgement has no' always been the best. But ye've answered fairly for it. And, I think, learned from it." A large, calloused hand reaches out to pat my cheek. "Ye did well, last night, Faramir. Dinna ye doubt it." 

 

At that, Gimli's gaze moves to the sleeping Legolas, as if to reassure himself that his elfling is still there, still sleeps quietly. My gaze turns with his, and I count Legolas' breaths for a few minutes, happy to see that he is breathing more easily and seems to be recovering from the poison. 

 

"I was terrified that I was going to say or do the wrong thing, and get us both killed." I quietly confess to Gimli, "Ask for too much, and have Haashim or one of the others decide that we were too much trouble to keep alive. Or not ask for enough, and see Legolas die of his wounds before me."  I shudder lightly in remembered fear. 

 

 Gimli's response is to drape a blanket around my shoulders. "Rest easy, lad. It is over. Ye did well." 

 

"So did you," I tell him. "Honestly, I was impressed by how well you managed to play the slave trader.  I hadn't expected much in the way of that from you...hmm...." I trail off, concerned that I might be offending Gimli by impugning his ability to deceive. 

 

He does look a little irritated. I do my best to save it, "I mean, you have always seemed so straight forward...."

 

"Hmmph." Gimli interrupts, "So have you, young Faramir.  Save when ye're misleading your father, or lying to protect a friend." 

 

 My face flames as I admit that is true. More, it reminds me of another apology I owe to Gimli.

 

"I owe you an apology, Gimli," I say with humble earnestness. "I did not realize how very great is the mutual esteem and trust between you and Legolas. So dear are you to him and he to you, that you could never hurt him in the manner which I accused you of. I am sorry." 

 

"Hmm," Gimli consideres me thoughtfully, "Well, that apology I will accept. But mind ye that I didna' hold the misunderstanding against ye." 

 

I smile in relief, "Legolas said much the same thing."  

 

"Did he, now?" Gimli murmurs, looking over to his charge again, his love for Legolas plain in his every expression. "What did he say, if ye dinna mind my asking?" 

 

I do consider for a moment whether Legolas might object to my sharing with his guardian the personal issues of trust and boundaries we discussed last night, when we were unsure of the future. Deciding that Legolas probably would not mind or at least would easily forgive such an invasion, I tell Gimli what we spoke of, including Legolas' statement that when Gimli takes the elf to task, it is only because Gimli cares, and to remind Legolas to take better care of himself. And also Legolas' explanation that being punished fairly and kindly by Gimli helps Legolas to rid himself of guilt and grief, and that the comfort given after helps Legolas to move on, and to know that he still holds Gimli's love and regard. 

 

Gimli listens to me attentively, with a tender look for his sleeping charge. When I have finished, he goes over to Legolas to stroke his hair and say something softly to him. When Gimli returns to my side, I note that his eyes gleam wetly, but perhaps that is just the smoke from the campfire. 

 

"There is something else," I add, "Traveling with you and facing this latest threat at your side, I have seen clearly the trust and esteem in which you hold Legolas. Well, in which the two of you hold one another, but despite his being younger and in your charge, you trust him to carry out his part of a difficult plan. I could only wish that my father would trust me so much."  

 

In fact, I could only wish for as close and strong a relationship with Aragorn as Gimli and Legolas have with one another. I am envious, but I know that if there is fault, it is mine. Aragorn is overprotective, but I have been the one pushing him away, making it harder for him to make of us a family. Legolas was right, about that. And right that to get to a place of such trust and esteem, I  need to allow Aragorn to BE my father, and have the right to both correct and comfort me. That is not something that comes easily for me. In truth, I am a bit lost when it comes to how to go from where we are now, to where I  - and I think Aragorn as well - would like to be. 

 

With a sigh Gimli sits down on the bedroll beside me. "Yer father does trust ye, Faramir. Trusts in ye as a soldier and a leader, aye, and a good man. He doesn't trust ye to have a care for your own skin, and I canna say as I blame him." 

 

"That's...." I am about to object that it is unfair, but with having just brought up my most recent failures in that regard myself, I am unable to say it. "That's not without merit." I finally say instead. 

 

Gimli nods firmly, appearing to approve of my honesty. "Aragorn wants to be closer to ye, lad. Dinna doubt that for one moment." Gimli says seriously. 

 

I blush, and look down at my hands and the blankets. "He...He is always trying to tell me what to do....and I don't know what to say, to that." 

 

Gimli harrumphs loudly. "Well, if you want one dwarf's advice, not antagonizing yer Da when you're already up to your eyebrows in trouble would be a fine start." 

 

My eyes fly to his face. "What do you mean?" I ask, confused. 

 

Gimli shakes a finger at me, quite clearly scolding now. "I will tell ye plainly. I've witnessed your tongue bring more trouble on your shoulders myself, upon occasion, and Aragorn has told me of similar foolishness when he came to me for advice." 

 

"Advice?" I murmur, still a bit lost. 

 

"Aye." Gimli's exasperation becomes slightly softened by fondness, as he explains, "Faramir, your father is my friend and my sword-brother. He talks to me. The distance between him and his new son troubles Aragorn. He wishes not just to keep you safe, but to let you know that you are always safe with him, and that he is always available to you, as friend and father." 

 

"Oh," I say lamely. 

 

Gimli pats my knee, as he returns to his original point. "Aye. So, when he asked ye when you had planned on telling him that ye are his son, answering him that you had NEVER planned on doing so was foolish, and incited him to greater temper." 

 

"But it was the truth!" I point out, exasperated myself now. 

 

"I've no doubt it was," Gimli says, still scolding, "A truth that was CLEARLY by then against his will. You would have been better served by a softer answer, my lad. Perhaps simply that you hadn't thought that he would want to know? Something that would tell him how you feel without throwing his emotions - and his orders - back in his face." 

 

"Aye....well...maybe," I answer, trying to make sense of all of that, as I faintly begin to understand Lord Gimli's point. 

 

"And then there was throwing your defiance about bringing yer guards with you into Aragorn's teeth, even as he took you to task for acting the drunken fool." Gimli continues, clearly determined to make it clear to me how I could improve my interactions with my father. 

 

"Ah...yes," I answer, beginning to blush again, "That was probably not the wisest thing for me to have said at that point." 

 

Gimli raises a skeptical eyebrow, "Nor was telling Aragorn that he had no business telling you to rest your shoulder during winter arms practices, when he is both your father and your healer."  

 

"Well, I knew that I was fine....." I begin to protest, before quieting as I recall that my shoulder finally, finally has stood up to several strenuous engagements without causing me trouble, and that it was Aragorn's insistence on strengthening the limb only slowly that brought about this improvement. 

 

"I had thought that I was fine," I correct myself after a moment, blushing again. "But it turned out that Aragorn knew better, and that it was good that I listened to.... that he made me take heed." 

 

"Aye, it was," Gimli agrees, appearing satisfied that I am finally understanding his point, and graciously forbearing from mentioning the embarrassing manner in which my father had enforced his will.  

 

"Thank you," I feel impelled to add, though my curiosity prompts me to continue that with, "I truly am grateful for your aid, but I must ask...why?" 

 

"Why, what?" It is my turn to confuse Gimli, it seems. 

 

"Ah, why is it that you are helping me - helping Aragorn and I - to figure out how to better relate to one another?" I ask wonderingly, hoping that I have not caused offense, but wanting to understand. 

 

"Oh, Faramir," Gimli says softly, "Do ye not understand? First off, I like you. Then, well, we of the Quest, we are kin by choice. As Boromir's brother, ye were already a part of that family. As Aragorn's son, all the more so. Ye are no different than a brother-son to me. Of course I care, foolish youth. Of course I care." 

 

"Oh....ah, I see," I say, but I still do not really. I am getting closer, though. It makes me feel strangely light and warm, to know that Aragorn's 'family' considers themselves my own, or at least that Lord Gimli does. And if Gimli views himself as an uncle of sorts to me, that would make Legolas....

 

Frowning thoughtfully, I ask, "I suppose that would make your Legolas my older-but-younger cousin?"  I rather like the idea of having so strong a connection to my elven friend, who has quickly become one of those most dear to me in all of Arda. 

 

Gimli chuckles.

 

 "Aye, a cousin is a fair enough description, him being like my own son and you being Aragorn's."

 

 Gimli's dark eyes twinkle as he regards me again, "Do not think that it has escaped my attention how much good your company and kindnesses have done for my lad? Dinna shake yer head at me and say it was nothing, Faramir. Ye have gone out of your way to make Legolas feel at home, in Minas Tirith and in Ithilien. And - that one night of drunken foolery aside - ye've done so by respecting both my rules and Legolas' tender adolescent dignity. Ye've never once treated him as a burden for being younger, and...." 

 

"Because he ISN'T a burden," I feel it necessary to interrupt. 

 

Patting my hand to calm me down, Gimli continues, "Aye, of course he isn't. But it would be too much trouble, for some, to include a younger kinsman in their adventures and their fun." I wonder if Gimli is perhaps thinking of Aragorn's twin foster-brothers, or even of Aragorn himself, "You and Legolas find joy and strength in one another's company, Faramir." Gimli''s deep voice remarks, "And what is more, you often do set him a good example. You're not afraid to admit to being tired or in pain, or to not knowing something. 

 

At that I have to blush yet again. "I sometimes have ulterior motives for that." I admit. 

 

"Yes, I've noticed that," Gimli says, eyes twinkling, "Most of them  dealing with Legolas' well-being. That does not make me think less of ye. I'm far less impressed with your disingenuous attempts to cover for Legolas' misdeeds - and occasionally yer own. I much prefer my elfling's straightforward honesty in such matters once he has been caught. But I am not unaware of why you might have had the need, in the past, to cover your tracks." At that I must turn away from Gimli's discerning eyes to hide my thoughts of Lord Denethor, even as Gimli continues, "You don't need to, anymore. No harm will come to you, beyond a heated backside or some added training and chores, for admitting to having erred." 

 

"You have given me much to think about," I confess softly.  

 

Gimli hold up his hand to stop my words. "There is one last reason, young Faramir, why it pleases me for ye to number amongst Legolas' friends.  Ye both fought in this last war long before ye were ready - Ah! Don't interrupt me, youngling - that is my opinion and I'll stand by it, as little as I care to voice it to either of you. The truth remains that you've walked that road, Faramir, and lived to see the other end. It's my dearest hope that he can, too." Gimli concludes, looking towards Legolas again. 

 

Normally I have difficult reading the thoughts in Lord Gimli's eyes, or in Legolas' or Aragorn's or any of the elves. But I think I can see something, given the emotion of the moment. Of course I will do my best to aid Legolas as he continues to grow, and hopefully leave behind some of the worst of his earlier experiences. But to the extent that Gimli seems to hope that Legolas manages to reach adulthood in better shape than I....well, I just don't understand. What does Lord Gimli think is wrong with me? I try not to be offended. I don't view myself as being in particularly bad shape. Oh, I struggle with war-guilt and nightmare sometimes, yes, but doesn't everyone? I know that Eowyn does. We try our best to help one another. I can - and will - certainly try my best to help Legolas as well, even if I have to step on his feet sometimes to do so. But first....

 

"I am not... damaged, my dear Lord Gimli," I explain to the dwarf who has this night declared himself like an uncle to me.  

 

Gimli raises a brow. "You're a good young man, Faramir. Now to bed with ye." 

 

He hasn't answered my question, but perhaps the whole matter had been in my head. No thought of it in his eyes, and just my own exhaustion causing me to see pity where there was nothing but thoughtfulness. 

 

"I am not so tired that I cannot stand a watch," I object again, hoping to convince Gimli to sleep for awhile himself whilst I take a turn caring for Legolas. 

 

"None of that, young man. Ye will sleep now, as I've told ye to," Gimli upbraids me sternly. 

 

I am very tired, and sore besides, so I make no further objection. I am not sure if I will be able to sleep. Legolas does seem much better, yes, but it is hard for me to dismiss the image of him as he was last night, so desperately ill in my arms. Still, with Legolas' quiet, regular breathing in the background, and the occasional reassuring rumble of Gimli's voice, I do fall asleep. 


	12. Chapter 12

**[Legolas POV, following morning]**

 

I wake again to the vastly reassuring sound of Gimli snoring I turn my head and see Faramir is also awake and his eyes are dancing, I offer him a grin, and we both then turn back to Gimli who informs us quite shortly that he was merely resting his eyes.

 

“Of course you were,” I offer meekly as he comes over to rest a hand on my forehead to check for fever.

 

“Ye better believe it laddies,” he tells us both as Faramir struggles up from his temporary pallet and joins Gimli at my bedside.

 

Thankfully apart from inspecting the new splints that must have been applied to my arm and leg while I slept and sniffing at where the Fell beasts claws caught my neck they leave me alone other than to help me relieve myself which while embarrassing is necessary.

 

I attempt to sit up and Faramir pushes some additional blankets behind me so that I can rest my head against the stone and finally take a proper look at our hiding place.

 

I assume it must have been used as a bolthole by the rangers for the equipment definitely comes from Gondor. There is a fire pit and water, which makes it almost palatial at least in the circumstances we find ourselves in.

 

Still, long years of fighting the shadow makes me ask how secure we are and more importantly where we are. I am not reassured by the second answer that we are still in the proximity of Minas Ithil or by Gimli’s assertion that we will need to remain here for some time yet so that my injuries can heal.

 

“I do not think that the Haradrim will be looking for us,” Faramir does his best to placate me, “remember Gimli paid good money for us, and they did not attempt to prevent us leaving.”

 

“That does not mean that they will not change their minds!” I counter, “the sooner we are away from here the better off we will be.”

 

I am losing the argument over this when I play my trump card and remind my overanxious minders that our guards who we left back at the crossroads will be expecting us back, and if we do not return as scheduled they will be sure to come and look for us which might lead them into danger.

 

Faramir frowns but Gimli nods, “Aye Lamb, there is something in what you say, and your ex-rangers may take it into their heads to talk or even go and inform the guards for they will be anxious over our absence as well.”

 

“So shall we set off now?” I ask pushing back the blankets and attempting to stand.

 

The combined frown from my companions convinces me to sit back down again rather hurriedly.

 

“We will remain here for now” Gimli decides obviously having made the decision that he is ‘in charge.’ “Tomorrow I will scout the area and if- I say _if_ Elfling- I am convinced we are safe, we will make our way back to where we left the horses. For now the pair of ye will get some more sleep, for I know well healing sleep is what you need Lamb and a good rest will not harm you either son of Aragorn.”

 

Our objections are ignored Gimli telling us that he can watch a while longer now that he has ‘rested’ his eyes and since there is little point in arguing with a determined dwarf I decide to do as I am bid for now at least.

 

 

 

**[Faramir POV]**

 

I wake again a little while before dawn. The light is weak and uncertain, but bright enough that there is no longer need to maintain a watch against the creatures of the night. And clear enough that I could make a good start towards the most likely path upon which to meet our reinforcements. I move very quietly, checking on Legolas one last time whilst trying to avoid waking him OR Gimli. Both still sleep peacefully, praise Eru. 

 

Doing my best not to make noise, I pull on my outer tunic, a spare cloak from the ranger's stores, and my boots. The last I frown at, tracing the line of tooth marks marring the side of my left boot. It doesn't feel strange to put weight on that foot anymore, or at least not very much so, but the boots will have to be replaced. I washed it carefully in case there was venom left in the holes. Thankfully I was wearing thick socks - those I put in an oilskin bag in case the healers can get anything useful out of them, venom-wise. Having an anti-venom available to treat fell-beast injuries seems like a good idea, since they are unfortunately not extinct.  I am daydreaming about how that situation might be rectified when I hear the sound of a throat clearing behind me. 

 

I turn to meet Gimli's stern, exasperated gaze with rueful surprise.

 

 "I really am the best one to go ahead scouting," I tell him. 

 

He crosses his mighty arms and favors me with an unimpressed look. "And the reason you didn't wake me up to tell me that is....?" He inquires. 

 

That causes me to blush again. "I didn't want to lose another argument with you." I confess. "My track record when we've disagreed on this trip is poor." 

 

He chuckles quietly, also taking a care not to wake Legolas. "You won the most important, Faramir. You got to back over the wall, because it made sense for that to be you. And in fact, I was going to tell you this morning after we both awoke that it should be you who goes ahead to find aid." 

 

"Oh," I say, with another blush. 

 

He raises an eyebrow at me.

 

 "Trust goes both ways, Faramir," He tells me quietly, "Perhaps if you trusted your Da or myself enough to share your plans, we would be more likely to trust you to carry them out." 

 

"I am sorry. It's habit," I excuse. 

 

Gimli grunts skeptically.

 

 "Make new ones," He recommends.  

 

After that, we go over again where the spare weapons in the cache are, as Legolas and I left all of ours except his bow in the hands of the Southrons, and where the emergency exit is, and then I head off. 

 

It turns out that I do not have to go far at all, since aid in the form of a ranger patrol was already on its way to us. I have not even been gone for two hours 'ere I return with seven of my fellows. They wait patiently outside, securing the perimeter and attending to other small tasks, whilst Gimli and I try to convince Legolas that no one with his injuries could be considered fit for walking out of here. 

 

Dressed in one of my own out-grown silk tunics from the clothing supplies in the cave, Legolas looks truly regal as he tells us firmly that no son of Thranduil is going to permit himself to be carried through the woods, no matter how much he respects the dwarf who proposes to do said carrying.  Also, no son of Thranduil is going to get carried in a litter or ride in a wagon or whatever other fell plans we've come up with just to demean our poor injured friend, who is just fine, thank you, because he's an elf and elves heal quickly. Or so he repeatedly tells us, at any rate. 

 

Gimli and I exchange a patient, long-suffering look. I open my mouth to try another tact, but quiet when Gimli shakes his head minutely. 

 

"Fine, laddie. If ye're so well, then prove it. Walk to the entrance yerself, and then we'll talk - ah ah ah, just talk, mind - about your walking back through the woods with some help." He tells Legolas. 

 

Legolas has a moment to look triumphant before he pushes himself to his feet, takes half a step forward with visible effort and pain, and then abruptly falls back down. 

 

Gimli catches him with a murmured, "Not your fault, lamb. Just let me carry you for awhile."  Legolas turns his face into Gimli's shoulder and makes a very soft reply. I leave the cave ahead of them, motioning for my men not to hassle Legolas. I know that they would be good-humored about it, aye, in fact that they would only tease him because they respect him and consider him an equal, but I don't think that he's in any mood for it. My poor friend is no longer feeling so badly as to be unaware and uncaring of what is happening to him, nor is he feeling well enough to handle it with his normal dignity and aplomb. I would be in a foul mood, myself. 

 

We quickly make a safer, less overgrown part of the forest where it is safe to move Legolas to a litter. He mutters a bit at that, too. One of the rangers tells him that he's lucky to be on a litter instead of dead, after having faced a fell beast alone. The peevish look on Legolas' face doesn't bode well for the rest of that conversation, so I send that man on ahead, and try to cheer Legolas up by regaling him with the tale of how my father first saw Minas Tirith flat on his back while riding in a litter. The story of how that came to happen was rather courageous - as is Legolas' fight with the hell-beast - but Aragorn swears to this day that he's never overcome the ignominy of his first entrance into the White City, and consequently has told very few of it. I don't even know if Arwen or the twins know, and there is a twinkle in Legolas' eyes before he falls asleep which tells me that if they have not already heard that story, they will soon. Ah, well. I'm sure that Aragorn would be happy to help one of his favorite patients to feel more cheerful whilst recovering. He's that type of fellow, my father. 

 

We reach a road smooth enough for a wagon, and one is duly procured. Legolas remains unimpressed, but softens slightly when I join him as another passenger. It was not my idea, initially. In fact it was Gimli's, and two of my older rangers spoke up and agreed with him. I was unappreciative of their solicitude at first, but my entire left side still aches, and Gimli's unspoken point that I should set a good example for Legolas came across loud and clear. I fall asleep in the wagon with Legolas resting against my right shoulder, and do not wake up until Gimli takes my place in the wagon with Legolas just before we reached Emyn Arnen.  

 

The new capitol of Ithilien where Eowyn and I have made our home is far more luxurious than it was but a year ago. We had already begun building it in such a way as to be harmonious with the forested hills and the river surrounding it, and in such a way as to facilitate being expanded as time goes on. That being said, we had done so economically, leaving luxuries to be built in later. Until, of course, Aragorn - and Arwen- learned that I was his son. At that point, I had no choice butt to just step out of the way and let Aragorn, Arwen, and Eowyn go ahead with whatever plans pleased them. Consequently, the manor house at Emyn Arnen boasts a great many luxuries,  not the least among them hot and cold running water and a separate spring-fed bathing chamber.  Also, there are a great number of sunny, well-appointed guest rooms, in one of which we quickly have Legolas ensconced. 

 

Legolas has only just started to complain about the inequity of his continuing status as an invalid since he is 'FINE, thank you, Faramir,' when my father and his retinue arrive. 

 

Aragorn is simply dressed in dusty riding leathers and his face is a study in strained worry, despite my having sent ahead word that we are fine. Still, he is one of the best sights I have ever seen. Apparently that feeling is reciprocated, since he swiftly pulls me into his arms and holds me tightly. In the past, it had been my habit to subtly avoid such displays of paternal affection. This time I return the embrace, murmuring into the stubble beside my father's ear how glad I am to see him. Aragorn pushes me gently back, clearly concerned, but upon seeing that I do, in fact, appear fine except for some bruises, he pats my unmarked cheek and goes to greet Legolas and Gimli, towing me along with one of his strong arms slung over my shoulders. Despite my bruises, I let him, unwilling to break that contact yet. 

 

Aragorn and Legolas have a fascinating conversation about how many times poor Legolas has been poked and prodded by 'healers' in the past several days, which Aragorn in the end gets the better of.  I heave a deep sigh of relief after my father completes his examination of Legolas' injuries and concludes that they are all healing well, and I can see that Gimli does the same, no matter how much he had professed confidence in our less-expert analysis of our friend's injuries. We exchange an amused look at our mutual reassurance, before Aragorn turns his attention to me. 

 

"In what way, ion-nin, was I unclear to you in my orders concerning Minas Morgul?" He asks, his voice both quiet and cutting. 

 

My stomach drops. Legolas on the bed and Gimli beside it both frown. I could wish that my father might have waited until we were in private to upbraid me, but the whole story is all of ours, so it might as well be told here and now. 

 

"In no way were you unclear, Adar." I begin, keeping my voice even and apologetic, "But we had not discussed the type of situation that arose. You see, a goatherd approached us after..." As I give Aragorn a concise summary of our adventure without turning confrontational in the face of my father's clear disapproval, I see Gimli give me an encouraging nod. 

 

Aragorn listens attentively, his face whitening at several intervals. I do my best to gloss over the night Legolas and I spent in captivity, including my fun game of keep-away with the fell-beast. Still, by the end, my father is obviously holding onto his temper by the skin of his teeth. It is odd how quickly worry in him translates to anger. I wonder why I had never noticed that before?  

 

"I thank you for taking care of them," Aragorn turns and says to Gimli, as if everything that went wrong was my fault or that of Legolas. My eleven friend and I exchange a frustrated look. 

 

"We all did what we could," Gimli replies gruffly. "We couldn't have rescued the goatherd and gotten all of us out alive if we hadn't worked so well together." 

 

Aragorn gives me another dark look. "We're not done discussing this matter, Faramir." He warns me sternly. 

 

I sigh, but reply meekly enough, "No, sir." 

 

He glares at me again for addressing him so, at least until Gimli interrupts, "Aragorn, leave yer lad alone. We all agreed to the plan, and we all did the best we could under the circumstances." Gimli's voice is very firm. He catches my eyes with a faint nod, and I am grateful that he does not bring up my initial insistence that I alone continue to Minas Ithil. 

 

"Unless ye have some bright idea for how we might have summoned up a friendly army on the spot or magically retrieved the boy without setting foot in the dark city, then I suggest ye let my elfling rest and see about putting your own son to bed." Gimli concludes. 

 

"I'm fine...." I start, as my father gapes at Gimli for a moment, his face quite a picture. 

 

Gimli gives me a stern look, and I amend myself. "That is, I am still sore, but I am well enough to debrief you in more detail now if you would prefer, Adar, while Legolas rests." 

 

Legolas seems disinclined to be left out of any debriefing, and Aragorn has now decided that he wants to look me over himself, so we adjourn all talk of Minas Ithil until the following morning.  My father and I take our leave, but not until after Aragorn lays down very specific instructions for Legolas' care, which Gimli appears to take quite serious, much to poor Legolas' disgust. 

 

Aragorn comes with me to my room and, instead of trying to discourage him as I normally do,  just let him look over my hurts and apply his healer's remedies, showing my gratitude when his medicinal treatments and skilled hands defeat my pain. He clucks unhappily over my bruises and my close call with the fell-beast's teeth, and his face goes white at seeing the lines on my back again. I told him part the story of them, last night. The story of how I'd been captured by the Haradrim when I was a teenager, and how they had whipped me and tortured me for information, suspecting - correctly - that I was a ranger spy. My recent time in the cage with Legolas, subject to the mercy of a slave trader, had brought those old, sad memories very close to the surface. Aragorn is very good about it. He holds me, as much as I can let him, and comforts me. I cry and cling to the shoulder he offers, where I fall asleep. 

 

I feel a bit awkward the next morning meeting him for breakfast in Legolas' quarters, but he greets me with a warm smile and an affectionate pat to my arm, so obviously he does not regret the time we shared last night, or think the worse of me for it. 

 

Everyone seems in an improved mood this morning, even Legolas. At least until I bring up the subject which I am sure is on all of our minds. 

 

"I want that toxic filth cleaned out of my princedom." I say fiercely.

 

I look around  and see Gimli nodding, while Legolas' eyes gleam  at the thought of upcoming battle. As for Adar, well if he is not looking happy,  at least he has not yet said no.

  
Legolas, Gimli and I will work on him together.  Even Aragorn Elessar will be unable to resist the three of us united in determination to do what must be done!"

 

 


End file.
